Acts of Devotion
by Vashti
Summary: Angel performs an act of devotion for his wife who performs one in turn for him. Whose act is the greater one?
1. Act of Devotion

Body Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and whole lot of other folks own BTVS and A:TS stuff. I'm a lowly po' college student. 

Spoiler: The end of S5 of BTVS and S2 of AtS 

Couples: Angel/other 

Feedback: It's lovely stuff, really. Truly I enjoy it as much as it enjoys you 

Dedication: So, so many people that each chapter has its own dedication. All told this was nearly two years of my life. 

Author's Note:If you would like to read this series in chronological order please read Beginnings, chapters one, two and three; Finder; (Night Festival technically goes here but it is not necessary to read it, besides it's really long); Act of Devotion; Defiance; Becoming X; Gemini and lastly Epilogue which is not an epilogue but a story in its own right_._

§§§ 

Act of Devotion 

"Angel." 

The young man turned in his sleep. 

"Angel, love, wake up." 

His brown eyes opened to those of his wife's nearly black ones. 

"Get me a pint of Chunky Monkey, please." Her smile flashed in the dark of their bedroom, from the dark of her skin. 

Turning over, Angel slid out of their bed. Soundlessly he pulled on the black jeans that lay across the back of a chair. 

"And a ham and cheese sandwich with mayonnaise and mustard." She paused thoughtfully, "I think that's all." 

Angel was on autopilot. Her comments were heard with half an ear. Microfiber black coat on, Angel was out of their room and apartment before his wife could make another "request" of him. 

The store owner knew him well. "What's she having tonight?" he asked in a friendly manner. 

Angel repeated the orders. While the owner retrieved the items, he glanced at the LCD display above the counter: 4:30 a.m. Four thirty, better than last time when she wanted. . . 

"Here ya go." Angel inhaled sharply. Four thirty-six a.m. "Sorry it took so long. Bots're slow this time of night." He nodded mutely and turned on his heel to leave. "See you next time" the owner called out to Angel's back. He waved, too tired to speak. 

"Mmm, I'm going to have to work this off tomorrow," his wife said, relishing the banana ice cream with dark chocolate and walnuts. The couple sat at their small kitchen table. The sandwich was gone and the Chunky Monkey was well on its way. Or not. "Enough," she said, pushing the half-empty carton away. 

Mutely Angel picked it up, removed the spoon, replaced the top and put the ice cream away. Before he could close the freezer, Angel felt his wife's small hands on his shoulders. "You didn't have to stay up with me, love." She planted a small kiss on his shoulder blade then pulled him toward their room. 

Sitting him on their bed, she bent down and pulled off his shoes. Ordinarily he would protest her act of devotion but tonight he was too exhausted. Shoes off -- he'd foregone socks -- his wife stood and tugged at his shirt. It slid up and off his arms and over his head easily. She pushed him back on the bed and unbuttoned his jeans. Angel had forgotten to zip them. Sliding them down his legs she couldn't resist a kiss on his knee. 

He'd started drowsing when she pushed him back on the pillows. The kiss startled him but Angel was asleep again in moments. He didn't feel his wife pull the sapphire blue coverlet over his near-naked body. He didn't feel her climb in beside him or place her ear over the comforting sound of his heart. 

Angel awoke to a lonely, though still warm, bed. Swinging his legs off the bed he hissed having stepped onto the zippers of his jeans. Gingerly he placed his feet on the thick crimson carpet. Absently, Angel placed his hand over his stomach to quell its growling. Suddenly his nose was assualted by the smell of cooking food. Some kind of ham was being fried and he could detect the sound of popping toast; Angel's stomach growled louder. 

"Hey." 

Angel's small wife jumped, surprised by her husbands embrace. 

"Kiss the cook?" he said. 

Eyes widening, she slapped her hands over her mouth and said, "Morning breath." 

"I don't mind," he answered, turning her to face him. 

"Not me, silly," she said, pushing against his chest. "You!" 

Sitting at the table they ate in comfortable silence. Standing she asked if Angel wanted seconds. "No, that's all right, Christina. I'll get it." He began to rise. 

"No," she said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You did enough for me last night." She ruffled his hair passing him on the way to the sink. 

Angel look up into the smiling eyes of his wife as she slid her arms around his neck and down his chest. She turned so that her chin rested on his shoulder. "Hey, lover." 

Angel answered with a kiss. It was sweet and languid, almost sleepy. A nip on his ear, Christina wanted something more. 

"Hey, Christi" Angel felt her stiffen. "I'm sorry," he said, standing and hugging her. 

Christina frowned into his chest. Pushing at his chest she reassured him it was all right. "It was a minor gaff." 

"I should have known better, I-" 

"Hey, stop with Mr. Guilty? You've been human what, four years now?" she said playfully hitting him. 

"It's just that whole thing with the alternate universe . . . the alternate universe and the alternate me. . ." 

"And the alternate me." 

"Yeah, she was hangin' on by a thread." 

Christina's eyes went blank for a moment. "He was going to push her over the edge once he'd gained our world. She'd been so strong for so long, but the body switching and...and..." 

"Tina," Angel used her familial pet name -- one he rarely used himself -- shaking her. 

Taking a deep breath she looked up and smiled. "Got lost in Remember Land. 

"Hey, guess what," Christina said, breaking the moment. 

"What?" He understood her need. 

"Guess whose head was on my stomach when I woke up this morning?" 

Angel blushed. 

Christina laughed. "I don't know why you find that so embarrassing, _imazadi_," beloved. "You've only been doing that since I got home from the hospital." 

"It's just. . .I mean. . .I don't know." He released his hold on her and ran a hand through his hair. The humiliation Angel put up with for his wife. 

Christina kissed his chin. "I like waking up with you warm on my belly." She lapped at his chin. "Mmm, Angel-taste. Were you this lish when you were first human?" 

"Lish?" 

"Mmm-hmm." She licked him again. "Delicious." 

He watched Angel leave the apartment. Apparently, they owned the warehouse, renting it out to businesses while living on the top two floors. The girl was still upstairs, wouldn't be out till later if she kept to her schedule. 

He tossed the smoldering cigarette butt to the ground and crossed the street. How nice of them to provide an interface screen. He loved modern security. " 'Ello?" 

The screen flickered on. Childish features he remembered from their last "encounter" stared back at him. "Hi, can I help you," her high, musical voice asked. 

"I'm lookin' for," he pretended to look down at a paper, "Leslie Wollof?" 

She smiled and shook her head. "Sorry, wrong addy." 

"Thanks, luv." 

"Wait, what did you call me just now?" 

"Me, nothing. Just sayin' thanks." 

Christina turned off the interface and leaned back against the wall. Something about that man was familiar. He'd called her luv. The only Englishmen she knew were Watchers and he. . .definitely gave off non-Watcher vibes. More like someone should be watching him. She wondered if her Slayer-sense could go off across a screen. 

She'd talk to Angel about it when she came home from patrol. Since Hermoine's death, Mayja simply hadn't been up to it. Feeling partly responsible -- and a strange shift in the activities of evil from Sunnydale to LA -- Christina had taken over her duties. 

"So, how was patrol tonight?" 

Christina shrugged, "Strange as usual. It was so much easier tracking down the icktified in a small town. LA needs five Slayers," she said flopping into an armchair. 

Chuckling, Angel pulled her into his arms. "I'm sure you did a wonderful job." 

They continued to talk about their respective day, and night, together. The English visitor was forgotten.   
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   [1]: http://www.gurlpages.com/tinpra/main.html



	2. Finder

Body _Dedicated to all the writers on the Fire & Ice archive. I may be awful with feedback but you've all inspired me_

§§§ 

Finder 

Something tugged at the edge of his consciousness. Sleep had found him easily enough, but she seemed to run from him now. 

It took a moment for his brain to register the crying from his dreams as a part of the waking world -- a world he was fast being pulled into by an unknown source. 

He found her head hung over the toilet, sitting on their tiled floor, hugging the rim. The short front hairs of her layered cut clung to her sweaty forehead and neck. Her french braid was as ragged as her breathing. 

Before he could speak, she pushed herself up on her knees and threw up. When it was done, she burst into fresh tears. "Christina." She didn't reply, didn't hear him, but weakly flushed the toilet. Sniffling, she lay her head on the seat and saw him. 

"Angel?" She cried again. Quickly, he was at her side, pulling her against his chest. "I don't know," she tried to speak through her tears, "I don't know what's going on with me. And its so awful, I can't --" Christina felt the familiar stirrings in her stomach. She pushed off her husband and dry-heaved over the bowl. Angel came up behind her and rubbed her back. He waved his hand over the flush mechanism as his wife cried harder than before. 

Carefully, Angel pulled her into his arms, slowly rocking back and forth. When he felt her head move against his chest he stopped, realizing his mistake. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean --" 

"It's all right," she whispered, tired. "Lay me down, please." He started to rise, with Christina in his arms. "No, here, on the floor, please." Angel shifted the bathroom mat before laying her on it. 

For a moment they sat and lay, unmoving, Christina curled in a fetal position, Angel, half reclined, stroking her forehead. "Do you want water," he asked, still trying to soothe her with his touch. 

Angel returned to find her in a tighter ball. Gently he coaxed her into a seated position, himself her back rest. After gargling the foul taste from her mouth, Angel slowly fed her unsalted saltines (the oxymoron that was its name occurring to them both) and made Christina drink the rest of the water. 

It was almost two hours before Christina could hold anything down. A half-hour later she was asleep in their bed while Angel made an appointment for her with his doctor. Christina's doctor -- really a friend who specialized in OB-GYN work, though a licensed general practitioner -- was on vacation with her family. Outside of their social relationship, the woman only saw her for checkups. 

Generally, Slayers didn't need much more care than that. 

Generally, Slayers didn't throw up half the night into the early morning. 

When Angel climbed in next to his wife's peaceful form, the LCD on the opposite wall read 6:25 am. The heavy deep blue velvet drapes were already closed against the sun. They were a remnant of his vampiric past, covering the nearly floor-length windows. So long as his body clock didn't kick in, he could pretend it was still the middle of the night. He could pretend that his wife, a supernaturally healthy woman, didn't need help walking from the bathroom to their bed. 

"Angel?" 

His eyes flashed open, looking about himself until remembering where he was. Sleepily, he rubbed his scruffy face. "Dr. Morgan. How is she? How's Christina?" 

"We've got her settled in a room. She's asleep." 

"Good." Angel rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. "So, what's wrong with her?' 

Dr. Morgan tapped his clipboard. "Let's take a walk." 

Instantly, Angel was on his feet. "Whatever it is tell me." 

"No," Dr. Morgan said with a little laugh, "Its not bad at all. Just looked like you could use some more waking up." 

Angel ran a hand through his hair. "I guess getting a cup of kava won't hurt." 

The two men stood by the coffee kiosk. Angel scowled into the black stuff. "Fifty years and a new name, you'd think they'd finally get it right," he mumbled. 

"Your wife has a stomach virus, normally I would suggest --" 

"That's it?" Angel cut the doctor. "But that's so strange, she's never had a stomach virus." 

"Angel, if I can finish?" 

"Sorry." 

"As I was saying, ordinarily I'd tell you to take Christina home, ply her with saltines and ginger ale and maybe an aspirin if she started running a fever. However, with your wife's special condition, we're keeping her under observation." Dr. Morgan could see the question in the lines of Angel's body. 

"Your wife is pregnant. You're going to be a father, Angel," he explained calmly. "Undoubtedly, part of Christina's illness was due, in fact, to morning sickness...," Dr. Morgan went on. Angel wasn't listening. 

"I'm going to be a father," he said, strangely reserved. 

Dr. Morgan smiled at him. "Yes Angel, if everything goes well -- which it will -- you will be a father." 

He grasped the man's shoulders. "Edmond, I'm going to have a baby! I'm going to be a daddy," Angel crowed. 

"Technically, Christina's the one having the bairn, but yes," he hadn't stopped smiling, "you're going to be a da." This was the kind of news he enjoyed giving. No matter how many times he did it, the response was often the same. Edmond Morgan, Ph.D., avowed lifelong bachelor, never tired of sharing in new parents' joy. 

"So, I guess this means you don't want to hear about your pregnancy termination opt--" 

"No!" Shock and fear and confusion coursed through Angel. "Yes. I mean, ah, uh, what I meant was we're going to keep it." 

"That's what I figured you meant." Dr. Morgan glanced at his watch. "The sedatives I gave your wife should be wearing off about now. She might well be sleeping still, but you can go see her." 

"Does she know?" 

"Considering that she's been asleep for most of the time you've been here, that'd be a no. Anyway, thought you'd like to tell her." 

When Christina awoke, she didn't remember her blood dreams, didn't remember the Chronos demon nor the pale stranger hiding in the shadows. When Christina awoke she knew two things; Angel was there, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb and she was thirsty. 

Angel helped her sit up and drink. "How do you feel?" 

"Less tired," her voice was rough from disuse, "still weak." Out of habit she reached for her silver chain with its cross and pewter cat pendants. "When can I go home, Angel?" 

"Tomorrow." 

Christina whined. "I know how much you hate hospitals, _imza_, beloved." She had been one of the most meticulous and careful Slayers he'd ever known. Anything that meant a long hospital stay was anathema. The demon that put her there would have hell -- no pun intended -- to pay when she got out. 

"But there's something else. What aren't you telling me, lover?" 

"It's good news, I promise," Angel said with a grin.  
Christina growled. "As Cordelia used to say, stall much?" 

He kissed her forehead, "We," kissed her nose, "are," then her lips, "pregnant." 

"We're what?" She looked up at him, confused. "We're pregnant? W-wait, you mean _I'm_ pregnant?" 

"Hmm," Angel murmured, playing with her curls. "I wonder what the child of a former Slayer and one of the most feared vampires --" 

"Formerly feared," she corrected. 

"-- most feared _former_," he corrected her, "vampire --" 

"--_formerly_ most feared, _former_ vampire --" 

"All right! All right, I think we get the point, cause we just staked it to death." Christina couldn't repress a chuckle. "So what kind of kid do you think we'll have?" 

"A long suffering one. 

"Wait, so what was all that throwing up about?" Angel took her hand and told her. "You're kidding me, a stomach virus?" Christina flopped on the bed, disgusted with her immune system. "Hey, will this affect the baby?" 

"Dr. Morgan said you should both be fine, just wants keep you overnight for observation. You know doctors, paranoid bunch." 

Christina whined again. "Can't they just monitor me online?" 

He shook his head no. 

The next two hours were spent trying to make Christina forget where she was. Eventually, Angel had to leave, he had a previous appointment with a client. He'd come back tonight, she didn't mind did she? 

"I'll see you," she yawned, "tonight then." 

Angel kissed his wife's -- the mother of his child -- forehead. When her breathing evened out, he left. So what if he was late, his clients would understand if they wanted to or not. 

The man went directly to the nurses station looking for Christina. (There were bots that did that kind of thing, but most people preferred a human touch.) Well, not really looking for her, but for whomever Angel had just left. 

Room 724. The golden light of the dying sun streamed through her window, all the way to the door, making the girl glow. The cross on her chest flashed in his eyes as she breathed. 

"Sir," he turned swiftly at the orderly's voice, "you can go in if you want." 

He didn't like it here with so many people about. "No, that's all right." The orderly nodded and walked away. 

" 'Ello, Step-Mum."   
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   [1]: http://www.gurlpages.com/tinpra/main.html



	3. Defiance

Body _Dedicated to Inell. You don't know me -- gotta remember to send that feedback! -- but Willow's reaction to being a consort in your _Fallen Angels_ series so pissed me off I had fodder for the next part of my series. Thank you. (Great story by the way.) _

§§§ 

Defiance 

"Do you know what's wrong with you, little girl?" 

She looked up at me, stared at me with more defiance, more will, more _life_ than I had seen in her in three weeks. She didn't answer. 

I grabbed her hair, exposing her neck. I was in control and I wanted her to know it. "Answer me." 

Still she refused. Yet, I knew it was there, I could see the knowledge in her eyes. 

Angered, I pulled her back then pushed her to the floor. In her pale dress, she slid across the waxed floor, too weak to stop herself. "Do you know what is wrong with you?" It came out a low threatening growl. 

Wearily, she pushed herself up on her arms and looked at me. The fire was, surprisingly, back in her eyes. "I'm dying." 

"How," I ground out. She'd been through more tests, seen more doctors, had more people killed to find out what was wrong with her only to learn it was nothing identifiable. Nothing the doctors or hospitals could find at least. 

"I will it," she answered simply. Her arms began to tremble, whatever strength she'd gotten from adrenaline going fast. 

Before she could hit the floor, I had her cradled in my arms. Unconscious, she lay there. I couldn't resist kissing her forehead. 

It was the first time I'd done something like this, taken a human as my slave, the vampire version of a consort. Before her, I tended to prefer to rule and dominate my minions. They are less. . .fragile and I liked my fun untempered. But I couldn't resist her, the way I couldn't resist kissing her that night. 

Her defiance, that's what drew me to her. Family, friends, acquaintances thought her brown and mousy. Admittedly she didn't dissuade them, wearing her hair in a haphazard bun, reading glasses often perched on her nose. But the first time I saw her, it was wandering around the streets of London, alone, in the middle of the night. A daughter of society dressed to perfection, nearly as modest as a nun, alone on the streets of London. I wanted her right then. 

But she'd also pulled at my curiosity. 

I started stalking her, following her around the city. She was a tactile person. I'd watch her, sitting alone in restaurants, hidden away in the back of pubs, something always in her hands. If there wasn't they were traveling along the walls, playing with the lace of her dress or anything she could put her hands on. Usually it was unconscious. She went no where without a book, either to read or write in. I never found out what she wrote, it never interested me. 

She interested me. 

A week after it began, I followed her back to her family townhouse. For some reason, although it was idiotically simple, I was loath to learn where she lived. I wanted to know the nature of my prey before I learned her lair. 

They didn't appreciate her. Her father had long lost the battle to keep her reigned in, her mother giving up hope of ever marrying her off. The only two relations who seemed to care were an elderly aunt and doting older brother. I'm sure he was a bad role model. I suppose killing him was an improper way of thanking the young man. 

She was so deliciously defiant. They didn't realize how pliant she made herself for their benefit. If she'd truly had her way she would have lived on her own, dressed in slacks and shirtwaists while visiting any and every literary salon that would take her in. I believe she wanted to cut off her hair -- the fashion being much longer than it is now -- something else I never learned. 

As it was, she traded wearing a corset for traipsing around at midnight. 

"I want you mind, body and soul," I said, catching her after another week of following her about London. The wounds I'd inflicted still oozed blood, but her body's natural defenses was quickly reacting "You will be my slave, my submissive, my consort for as long as I wish it." My hand was wound tight in her loose bun, stretching her neck so that she looked into my eyes. 

Even in face of my demon, she stood up to me. "Why should I? Why not let you kill me," she hissed. 

We were nose to nose when I said, "Because Adam," her brother, "and Aunt Ann-marie will pay with their lives if you don't." I laughed at her gasp. "You don't really have a choice," I said stroking the wound. She flinched in pain. "Just agree now, or I will kill them anyway while you watch. Then I shall take the better part of this week killing you." My face had slid back into its human visage. 

I could see the fear in her eyes. The smell came off her in waves. I could also see the banked anger. "If I go with you tonight --" 

"Forever." 

The fire flared for a moment as she repeated, "-- forever, if you will leave my family alone. Swear it, on your honor." 

Smirking, I swore. Instantly, I felt the resistance go out of her. Reluctantly, I released her, wary that she might try to run. She stood where she was, eyes still on mine. She had such deep brown eyes. If not for my enhanced sight I would have thought them black. 

Immediately, I took her to the flat I was living at. The minions were gone, better for them, and I wasted no time dressing up my new "toy." That's when I discovered what I should have known, the girl knew she was pretty, that she was beautiful. She didn't want a husband and did everything in her power to dissuade suitors. It worked. 

I'd fallen in love with dressing her in pretty things, doing her hair, learning which colors suited her best. I fell in love with her mind and sharp tongue. I loved her defiance and I worshipped her body as only a vampire can -- with blood and pain and without mercy. 

Sometimes I allowed her to wander around the city during the day, always with someone watching her. I always knew where she was. I always knew what she did. 

Once, she begged me to let her have a little money so she could buy some "pretty things," as she called them. Instead _I_ bought the glass figurines, little ornamental things, anything glittery and shiny that I thought she might like. I was feeling generous. She took them to her room at the flat and proceeded to systematically throw them against the wall, the ceiling, onto the floor, whirling like a dervish. She nearly broke the one floor length mirror in the house. When I was told, I beat her till she couldn't move for three days and needed help to reach her door for another two. 

I didn't beat her for breaking the things. They hardly mattered. I beat her for her response when I asked her why she'd done it. "Were they expensive," she said, an innocent look on her face belied by the intensity of her eyes, "because I said I didn't need anything expensive." I beat her for her insolence. 

It was almost as fun as screwing her. 

I remember standing in the door, looking at her bruised back. It was ugly. I loved it. "I own you, don't forget that," I said. "Your mine," my voice purring, "mind, body and soul." 

"Not soul," she muttered. Her head was turned away from me. 

"What was that?" Few people have excited my anger so easily as she did. 

"My soul, my will, my emotions, my mind," she said, her voice hard even for me to hear. I can't imagine what it cost her. "You force my will, but you don't own it, you incite my emotions --" she gasped in pain, "but they're my own and my mind. . .I just proved who owns my mind," she ground out. If I didn't love her. . .no, if she hadn't already been close to death I would have beat her again. By the time she was well enough the anger was gone. 

She was never so willful again afterwards, but I could always see the fire burning in her. No matter the games I played -- physical or mental -- or the ways I seduced her I knew she hated me. Yet, I held the better hand. The life of her brother and Aunt Ann-marie were in mine. 

One night I noticed the difference. Her skin had an almost unnatural glow, but that wasn't what caught my attention. If not for the corset, I'm sure she would have slumped in her seat at my knee. As it was, her eyes were at her feet. "Look at me," I ordered. 

She looked up. Something was wrong, but I couldn't place it. Annoyed, I shoved a book in her hands. "Read," I ordered. 

After a week her eyes were too large and her cheeks hollow. We spent a month of nights visiting hospitals, having doctors make personal calls. I killed enough of them to find out they were either wrong or simply knew nothing. Medical sciences weren't all that they are today, after all. Through it all, whenever I looked at her, nothing looked back. 

I was almost scared. 

I loved her when she was defiant -- just not when she was defiant with me. It was why I'd chosen her. It made all the pain and tenderness worthwhile to know the morning after making her scream in pleasure I'd still wake to see unfathomable anger and hatred. I don't know what she used to feed her fire. Even my most indomitable childe always succumbed to my will. I used humans like her again but they never lasted as long. Their will never lasted as long. Sometimes I could feel her fury radiating off her like heat from an old fashioned stove. 

Her back was straight after the fifth doctor in three night, instead of hunched over. She was barely eating enough to survive, anything more came back up. But that night her fire was burning again. It was low, but I knew I could feel it. I loved her for it. I realized she knew that I'd finally figured out what was going on. 

She awoke, the next day in my bed. It was strange seeing her there again, after so long. She'd become amazingly thin. I was sitting next to her, stroking her hair. "Why?" 

"Why not?" Her voice, high already, was reed thin. "You broke your word, why should I uphold mine?" 

I'd forgotten about her little family. Bored one night, I'd taken them all. Somehow she'd found out. Somehow it took me more than a month to put it together. I lifted her by the shoulders and shook her. "You will stop this little girl --" 

She trembled terribly. "Or what?" The fire blazed in her eyes. "There's no one left to threaten me with. Will you find someone else to make me care about?" She drew in a wheezing breath. "I don't think you can." God, how I loved her then. I wanted her so much and was surprised when something stopped me from taking her, from making her last moments even shorter. Instead, I gently replaced her in the bed. I threw quilts from her aunt's room over her. If she noticed she didn't say. "I wanted to take you with me," she whispered. "I wanted to kill you then kill myself for the things you've done to me and made me do, but I shan't have that chance. It will have to go to another. May she find the strength." 

The little speech totally exhausted her reserves. Once again, she was unconscious, this time merely a deep slumber, in my arms. 

Before she died, I drained the last of her sluggish blood. That done, I broke every bone in her body from the tips of her fingers to her ankles. She had such beautiful ankles. One of the minions dumped the body somewhere. I didn't know or care where. I didn't think of her again for more than half a century when I regained my soul. 

"Why are you telling me this, Angel," Christina asked. They lay on the couch in the living room, Angel resting between his wife's thighs, head on her slightly rounded belly. 

He caught the hand caressing his hair and kissed it. "I need you to know who I was." 

"But I know who you were," she protested. 

He shook his head. "It's more than that. She was like my wife," Angel twisted so he could look up at her, "and I enjoyed destroying her. When she was better after that beating, instead of repaying her with another I took it out on her mind. She couldn't have told you what was real or imagined for weeks on end." 

Angel could feel her repressed shudders. Looking at her with knowing eyes, he said, "I never knew what kind of husband I'd be --" 

"You're a great husband," she said, kissing the hand that held her own. 

Staring at the opposite wall again, he continued. "I never knew what kind of husband I'd be. The one time I had a 'wife' I reveled in her pain. 

"We would go out to the salons. Despite the history books, women were not always welcome by the male literati. A lot of them wanted something pretty to 'inspire' them. She would have none of it. She was my phoenix, burning anyone who dared question her ability, reborn every time I broke her." 

"I still don't understand, love." 

"You remind me of her," he said quietly. "You look like her." 

Christina laughed for the first time since he began. "Darling," she said, scratching his scalp, "I doubt if we resembled each other. Even with a tan, I'm sure I'd have her beat by a few shades." Angel laughed with her. "If this is a way of complimenting me, it's failing miserably." 

Smiling, Angel said, "It's something about your eyes. You have the same eyes, the same fire." 

"If I remember correctly, love, when I saw your demon I nearly shattered glass." Her husband laughed at the memory. 

"You were just shocked. If _I_ remember correctly, you then socked me in the jaw." Nuzzling her belly, he sighed. "But that's not the point. I don't want to see the fire in your eyes go out." 

Without pause, Christina quoted, "Back beat, the word is on the street that the fire in your eye is out." 

"Hmm?" 

"Nothing. You were saying, lover." 

All Angel wanted to do was sleep. He'd spent the better part of the night working up the courage to tell his wife this story from his past. The rest of the night was spent in the telling. Christina's deft fingers, playing with his hair, massaging his scalp, were pulling him towards sleep. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to find the words to convey his feelings, his fears. 

"I don't want your passion to die." 

Christina drew her legs up from around him. A few tangled limbs later, she sat astride her husband. His face in her hands she said, "Tell me what you're afraid of Angel. I don't understand and you're scaring me." 

He rubbed his cheeks into her palms. Gingerly, he placed his own palms on her stomach. "I'm afraid of hurting the baby." 

Grinning, Christina smoothed her hands over his face. "Lover, you won't hurt the baby." 

"But I loved her and I hurt her. I loved Buffy and I hurt her." 

"And both times your demon was in control. You were Angelus. _Imza_, not only do you have your soul, you're human and you are, were, never so cruel with your soul." Smiling she said, "You're beautiful." 

A curtain fell over Angel's eyes. "I closed the door." 

"What? What door?" 

"When Darla was reborn, she and Druscilla attacked the Wolfram & Hart lawyers at a Christmas party. I could have saved them. I could have tried and I closed the door to the wine cellar. I walked away, listening to their screams." 

Christina was speechless. "But Wesley, and. . .and Cordelia, and Gunn, they didn't stop you?" 

"I fired them. And yes, I was fully souled. I just didn't care anymore." Before she could speak, Angel went on, "There's darkness inside me, _imza,_ and I'm afraid it might come back again." 

When she could trust herself to speak again, she waited, trying to find the words to reassure her husband -- and herself. "There's darkness in everyone," her voice was low. "Even the heavenly bodies," she was loath to say angels, "fell. Every Slayer has darkness in her, including me. It is part of our strength. And this child," her forehead was pressed against his, "this child will have some darkness in her, too. Who better to teach her its dangers, to control it." Her even, low voice lapped at him, wrapped Angel in warmth and assurance, "Who better to make sure it does not control her than a man who has lived with it and battled it for more than a century." 

Angel smiled at his wife. "You're my redemption Chris." 

"No," she said with a shake of her head, "not me, not a Slayer. Your child and her love will be your redemption." 

Christina watched her husband sleep. Though she didn't look it, she was nearly seven months pregnant and sleep had become a hard friend to catch lately. Something from her love's story turned in her mind. _'. . .I'd still wake to see unfathomable anger and hatred. I don't know what she used to feed her fire.'_

Christina knew. She leaned over and kissed his forehead, smoothing his brow, before getting up and out of their bed. "She didn't hate you, lover. She hated herself. 

"Lights off."   
[][1]  
  
[][1]  


   [1]: http://www.gurlpages.com/tinpra/main.html



	4. The Beginning of the End: Meetings

Body _Dedicated to Ray/Bishop/Westy/Giles21, whatever you want to be called Master Watcher_. _I figured for your sake maybe I should give the series _some_ sense of order._

§§§ 

The Beginning of the End: Meetings 

Only the sound of video and arcade games were louder than the girls. Almost. 

The one being pulled, pulled back. "Good grief girl, it _is_ attached, you know." 

"Sorry, running late. Come with me while I change," she replied, not giving the other girl a choice. Pulling her into the bathroom, she said, "Chris, you have gotta meet Sensei." 

Chris rolled her eyes. "Uh, I met Sensei." 

The girl mumbled something from beneath her _gi_. Hair disheveled, she emerged from the uniform. "No," she said, drawing the word out, "new sensei, remember? Remember, Sensei got married and left? Nels finally got somebody to take her place." 

Chris, legs crossed on the couch, shrugged. "So what's so special that I just gotta meet this one? Is she like uber-Sensei or something?" 

"No," she said, "_he's_ hot." The teen at her friend through the mirror. 

"Mmm," the girl purred. "Carmen hurry up. For once I wish I was in karate." 

"I swear I felt teeth on my neck when I woke up," Chris yelled over the four or five voices around her. Someone replied but it was lost in the din. "Oh, shut up," she said. They rushed through the door to the mess hall-cum-gym. 

Carmen whispered. "Turn around." Chris did, noting first the lower belts she knew packing up their stuff then Carmen's fellow brown belts and the new sensei. "Hot or what," she asked, her mouth close to Chris' ear.  
Grinning, Chris turned. With one deep blood red nail, she scratched an imaginary tongue of flame in the air, hissing. "Sexy." She gave him another perusal. "Not exactly drop-dead gorgeous but definitely yum." 

"Well, I never said he was drop-dead. . .caveman brows ruin it." 

Chris took in a breath. "Yeah, yeah." 

They sat at the back of the mess hall, Carmen stretching. "Carmen." The girls looked up. "We're getting started soon." 

"I know, I'm sorry. Oh, Sensei, this is my friend, Christina. Is it all right if she stays and watch?" 

"I'll sit in the back in a corner and won't say a word, promise," the other girl added. 

Sensei smiled at them. Carmen and Christina shared a quick look. "You don't have to do all that." He offered Carmen his hand. "Just don't make a habit of it." 

"Don't worry, girl, I'll take care of your," Christina looked about herself, "uh, nothings." As they joined the rest of the class, she called, "Thanks, Sensei." She wasn't sure if he heard. 

Christina grinned. "That was fun to watch. Course, now you're all sweaty and in need of a shower." 

"You should be right here, sweaty as me." 

"Yeah," she shrugged, "I should, but I'm not." 

"Why don't you join?" Carmen asked, mopping her forehead. "I mean, look at him," she said. 

"Have you seen the other white belts? The oldest one is eight. I'm nearly seventeen." 

"Bye, Sensei, Carmen called. Christina held the door open for her. 

"Bye Sensei," she added, perfunctorily. "There's no way I'm taking karate now," Christina continued the conversation as the door closed behind her. "You've been trying to get me to join for years Car, ain't happenin'." 

Carmen shrugged. "I'm gonna get you in karate, just watch. Come on," she said, "my clothes're in the bathroom." 

"Ew, you're gonna walk around all sweaty? You are going to use Miguel's mobile sonic shower, right?" 

"Brokedown palace." 

"You're gonna be smellier than the mutant sewer rats." 

Carmen rolled her eyes. "Uh, I live upstairs. Gonna go get in some real water and come back." They stopped before the bathroom. "You'll be here?" 

"Yeah." 

"Great. Come on," she said, pushing the door open, "I gotta get my clothes and bag and stuff." 

"Why don't I get your coat for you. I can say hi to Miguel since you hardly let me put my coat down earlier." 

"Oh, okay, then tell him I'm coming back, okay?" 

He wasn't in the back, though the coat's were. Tossing her friend's inside the bathroom, Christina went in search of Miguel Nelson. 

"Stay," his voice found her before she did, "stay a while." He was there, in front of his office with Sensei. "You don't have anywhere to go, do you? Why don't you hang out?" 

Christina burst in on them, unceremoniously. "Oh, sorry." She patiently waited for them to finish. 

"Its all right," Sensei said. 

"Go ahead, Christine." 

Feeling put on the spot, she ran a hand through her hair. "Uh, Carmen's feeling gross so she's gonna shower and come back." Miguel nodded. "Okay." Christina turned on her heel and went back the way she came. 

"You know, you're not one of my students, you don't haven't call me Sensei." 

Carmen passed behind them. "Not if I have my way." 

Christina made a snide face at her friend -- one of her best friends really. 

"What's that about." 

"Car's been trying to get me in karate since before we were friends. But I never am," Carmen stuck her tongue out, Christina reciprocated. "So what should I call you?" 

Holding out his hand, he answered, "Angel." 

Taking it, she raised a brow. "Not to be rude or mean and please take this in the best way possible but that's not exactly a 'white' name." 

Angel smiled. "It's a nickname." 

"Okay," and the subject was closed. 

Or at least that of his name was. "She has to call you Sensei," one of the lower belts claimed. "Everyone does." 

"And why's that," he asked. 

"Because." 

"That's not an answer." 

Carmen strode by again, "He's too young. That's the best you're gonna get," adding her two cents. 

"Am not," the boy retaliated. 

"Yeah," Christina sided with her friend, "she's right, but so is Man," she used the boy's nickname. "It's like my French teacher from high school. Everyone calls her Madame, even my mom. Not Madame Clarence and certainly not Mrs. Clarence, she was just Madame. It was her name, sorta." 

"Was she the only French teacher?" Angel asked thoughtfully. 

"Cha, just like you're the only sensei here, Sensei," Christina smiled at him. "But if you really want me to call you Angel I will, just don't expect the other kids to follow suit." 

"I'm only concerned about you," he replied cryptically. 

The conversation turned quickly, before Christina could ask his meaning. The younger children, Man included, started drifting off as parents, siblings and other relations picked them up. Those left behind, mostly teenagers and some of the younger staff, were making decisions among themselves. 

"Well can we eat first," someone called out, "I'm hungry." All eyes turned to the speaker. It was Carmen. "Well, I am." 

Christina jumped up. "Let's go." Once again the fluctuating voice changed theme from entertainment to food. 

"Are we all gonna go?" a girl named Noria asked. 

Nelson took charge. "Unless you all want something different how bout I make a list and John and Mike can get the food." Everyone agreed, calling out orders over each other. 

Christina noted Angel, at the center of confusion made no attempt at ordering. Coming up to him she tapped his shoulder. "Hey, do you want anything, my treat. Though, the way things are going, I'm sure you can graze from everyone else's stuff. Actually, everyone will." 

"I'm fine," he said, with a shake of his head, "I'm not hungry. Its still kinda early for me, but thanks." 

"A perfect ten, gotcha." 

Angel watched her retreat, somewhat confused by her lingo. Well, it was more logical than Faith's "five by five," but whatever. 

Dinner dissolved into a game of hide-and-go-seek. Angel didn't play, and no one really expected him to. Instead he did what he did best, he observed and lurked. There really weren't many hiding places in the community center. Nelson's office probably held the best spots, but the director had holed himself in there once their food arrived. He either had a lot of faith in them or knew they had a healthy fear of his wrath. Some of both was true. 

Though declining to play, Angel carefully noted where each player hid. More often than not two or three girls -- often staying together throughout the game -- hid together. The boys tended to hide alone. 

Carlo, Carmen and Christina -- the three C's Miguel had called them, describing some of the children under his care to Angel -- broke the norm. More often than not they hid separately, but worked as a unit. Carlo was behind a door, acting as look out, while the girls took more secure hiding places. Christina usually led their actions, deciding what room they would hide in while Carmen coordinated their movements, making sure they didn't make silly mistakes. 

Angel was impressed. 

Of the ten games played, they were caught twice (Noria'd been It six times that night). Both times only the acting lookout was discovered. The second time Angel got to watch Christina in action. 

". . .One oh eight, one oh nine, one ten. Ready or not, here I come!" She strode down the main hall, entering the game room through the nearest entrance. Angel was waiting, sitting on a table set up for card play. "If you plan on running to the kitchen or mess hall, I'll catch you first," she said to the apparently room. She, Carlo and Carmen'd already tried that trick. "I don't suppose you'll tell me where everyone is?" 

Angel shook his head. 

There was no one in the game room and she knew it. It made a bad hiding place, being brightly lit with very open spaces. As a stopover to the next two rooms over, however, it was excellent. 

Smiling, the girl strode out of the game room into the nature room. There was very little in the way of nature there now, but during the summer it was home to a variety of creatures. 

For the most part Christina'd been silently stalking her friends. This time she let her boot heels click and emphasized the rustle of her clothes. She wanted whoever was hiding to know she was there. To Angel's surprise, however, Christina exited the room. Making a sharp left, she entered the movie room. Again, she walked part way in before leaving. From the doorway Angel could smell Carlo and Carmen hiding. 

"Two," she confirmed in a whisper. "I'll get them later." 

Christina went back in the nature room. They knew she was there. It was making them nervous. Nerves was making them giggle. "Aha! Gotcha, Quanna." 

"Hey," the youngster appeared from a dark corner of junk. 

"Come on, let's get everyone else. Get out from behind the table Roberto, before it falls on you and Noria." 

The two groaned and shoved themselves out. The three teens busily began ferreted everyone else out. 

Christina abandoned them for the movie room. "Game over, guys. Quanna's It." 

Carlo and Carmen, grinning. "That was fast," Carlo commented. 

"Cha. Quanna giggles like a hyena." 

That might have been true but Angel knew that wasn't how she'd found them or the girl. Christina'd let her senses do the finding. 

Soon afterward, everyone grew tired of hiding. Someone suggested a movie. 

Christina glanced at her LCD. "I gotta get out of here." 

"You have to leave already?" Carlo asked. 

"Redundant tonight, huh? Cha, I gotta go. You shoulda been here earlier," she said hugging him. "We could have spent more time together." 

"I'll be here tomorrow," he said, hopefully. 

Christina smiled ruefully, "I'll see if I can make it." 

"She'll be here," Carmen said, "if we have to drag her here from Manhattan." 

The girls made faces before hugging. 

"Well," Angel said, interrupting, "I guess I should go too. I'll walk you out." 

"Okay. 'Night guys." 

"G'night." 

"Night" 

"See ya." 

Outside, pulling on her gloves, Christina asked where Angel was headed. 

He shrugged. "Got some things to do before I go home." 

"Cool. I'll see you around then." 

"Would you like a ride home?" 

"S'okay. I'm mondo. G'night." With that she was off down the street, rushing her to transport spot. 

"Tell me again how you got me to do this for you?" 

"I bribed you with antiques," the Englishman replied cheerily, "remember." 

Angel rolled his eyes. "Yeah, unfortunately I do. Look, I don't think this girl is gonna work out. A year's jut not long enough." 

"You had a year and three months --" 

"Took me three months to find her." Angel paced across the view screen. "Look, maybe if I had her for a year of pure training, maybe she could take on a fledgling but there's just no way --" 

"So what're you griping about? And stop pacing, would you?" The dark skinned man rubbed his neck. "Why don't you get to it?" 

Angel stopped in front of the viewer. "I can't just whisk her away to LA." 

"Why ever not?" 

"She spent sixteen years like a normal kid, Bishop. I can't just take her from her family, they wouldn't let me. Hell, she wouldn't let me." He started to pace again. 

"I'm sure if you explain --" 

"Oh yeah, I can see it now. 'Why, hello Mrs. Singletary my name is Angel. Your daughter, Christina, isn't she sweet, well she happens to the Chosen One. What's the Chosen One you may ask? She's the one girl in every generation chosen to fight vampires. I'd like to take her to my vintage hotel in LA now and train her to kill things that go bump in the night. Oh and did I mention I'm one of those things, a vampire to be exact?' Yeah, that'll go over _real_ well." 

"Well," Bishop said, pushing up his glasses, "I certainly wouldn't put it like that." 

Angel sighed. "No, I'm sure you wouldn't. Look, Bishop, I'll handle it. It's just," he looked intently at the man on the other coast, "the first five-year old vamp she meets will wipe her out then we're back at square one." 

"Olivia won't be ready for another three years, at least." 

"And Kat?" 

"No more than a year, maybe a little more, assuming prophecy holds." 

"And when has prophecy ever fallen through?" 

Hide-and-seek was not on the menu that night at the Center. 

The three C's sat in the entertainment room staring at the blank big-screen wondering what to do. "We could watch boxing," Carlo suggested. The two girls looked at him in disgust. "Or not." 

"We could listen to music," suggested Carmen. 

"You're just not letting go of the music thing," Christina said, looking down at her best friend, "are you?" 

"Nope." 

Angel walk in. 

"Nope." 

Angel walked in. 

"Yo." 

"Hey." 

Shalom." The last came from Christina, eliciting giggles from her friends. 

He surveyed the room and its occupants. The three sat against the far wall, close to the dead machine. From the various people he'd watch enter then quickly exit the room Angel knew they thought it empty. His vampire nose had told him differently. If it hadn't been for his enhanced senses, he might have thought it empty too. As it was, Carmen sat closest to the flatscreen, arms resting next to her, slouching with head in had be an uncomfortable position; Christina sat atop the couch, leaning against the wall radiator. 

"Bored," he asked them. 

"Yeah. 

"Uh huh." 

"How'd you guess." 

Angel rolled his eyes. "You three should be a comedy act." 

"We are," Carmen answered. Her friends giggled. 

"You could always train some more. 

Carlo and Carmen groaned while Christina grinned. Trying to protest, Carlo sat up too fast hitting his head on the radiator above. Both girls laughed at his mishap. "Oh shut up." They laughed harder. "It wasn't that funny." 

"You're right," Christina gasped, "it wasn't." Somehow the thought sent them into another, stronger, gale. Carmen was doubled over, Christina with her, sliding down into the seat proper. 

"Okay, okay," she said, wiping away tears, "we'll stop." The girls looked at each other and erupted again. Seeing the look on Carlo's face, Christina said, "It's not you. I swear its not you. We're just so bored. Right Car?" 

"Uh huh," she agreed. "How 'bout on a movie? A weeper even. Wanna watch, Sensei?" 

Christina and Carlo looked up. They'd forgotten about Angel. "Yeah man," Carlo said, "I need some moral support." 

"You seemed to be doing just fine." 

The girls hid giggles behind their hands. 

That was the last straw, so to speak. Carlo got up angrily. "That's it. I'm gonna pick out a DVD. Could you two _try_ to work out the giggles by the time the movie starts?" 

"We'll try." 

"Uh huh, we will." 

The might have sounded earnest to Carlo, but Angel could see them quietly tittering. 

Sitting across from them he asked if it were all that funny. 

The girls exchanged a glance. "No, but it happened and it was kinda funny." Christina looked at her giggle-partner in crime. "You gotta understand, we're just so bored," she finished a yawn. 

"Good timing," Carmen commented. 

"Thanks, and I didn't even try." 

So what did the girls do when they weren't here during the day, Angel asked. 

"School," they replied simultaneously. 

"High school," Carmen clarified, raising her hand. "College," she added, raising Christina's. 

Where did they go? 

"LaGuardia and Brooklyn College," she answered. 

"Respectively speaking," Christina added. 

Oh, he worked at BC, teaching a martial arts class. 

"Told you you should take karate," Carmen exclaimed, playfully pushing her friend. 

"It doesn't fit my ideology," she replied pushing back. 

"Oh?" 

"Oh." 

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah." 

Angel saw this was quickly going down the road of teenage nonsense. Mentally he cursed Bishop and himself. Aloud he asked what was wrong with karate's "ideology." 

"Too much on the offensive. I'm not an attacker type person." 

Not an "attacker type person?" God save them all. 

"You know," Carmen said, breaking into his thoughts, "there are different kinds of martial arts like jujitsu, aikido, tae kwon do and more still. Wu shu." 

She was right. Why didn't Christina take one of those? 

"I know, but do you know one that's based on more defense first kinda moves?" 

Carmen shrugged. 

Well, he taught a mix of things. Angel was sure he could find a style that fit her. 

"Ha, see now you have no more excuses." 

"Mudo crudoff," Christina swore. 

"God, what am I going to do with this girl?" Angel was pacing again. Ever three turns or so he ran a hand through his hair. "Supposedly she's not the 'attack type'." Pleadingly, he looked into the viewer. "Wesley, help." 

Pushing his glasses up his nose, he said, "Well, first off would you stop? Hasn't anyone ever told you how annoying that is?" 

"Bishop, day before yesterday." 

"Yes, well, I can see you didn't take it to heart. Secondly, why are you so worked up about the girl anyway? You've known her, what, all of three days?" 

"Two, she didn't show up today." 

"Ah, I see. Um, well then, um . . . Bloody hell man, stand a moment will you?!" 

Taking a deep, necessary-to-force-some-calm breath, Angel stopped. "Sorry. Better?" 

"Much. Now, where was I?" 

"Wondering why Christina's gotten under my cold skin." 

"Right," Wesley fiddled with his glasses. It was a day and age in which he didn't need them, but they were comforting. "So, why is she getting to you?" 

Angel shook his head. "Honestly, I don't know. She's just so," he paused searching for the word but falling back on the one on his tongue, "wrong. I don't know, it just feels like she was never meant to be a Slayer." With a sigh, he sat in the big old fashioned wing chair he kept in his New York apartment. Being a vampire it didn't bother him that he'd been holding his breath for nearly eight minutes. He hadn't noticed. "If the Council were asking my opinion --" 

"Which they aren't." 

"-- I'd tell them to leave her alone and find another." 

"There isn't another," Wesley reminded him softly. 

"I know." 

"Bodalay people, I bring company," Christina called out. "Hey Burma, where's Phoenix and Angie?" 

The big man, he was built like a linebacker, engulfed her in a bear hug. "Phoenix's down the hall at the copy place. She's probably yelling at the copy lady by now," he went on though he hadn't released her. "Angie's playing Snood. Who's the hombre?" 

"Angel." 

"Hey Angel, I'm Burma." He extended his meaty hand, swallowing Angel's. 

"Hey," the vampire replied. 

There was a tapping on Burma's chest. "What?" He looked down. 

"Breathing issues," Christina gasped. 

Immediately, the big man released her. "Sorry." 

"Hey, at least this time my eyes didn't bug out and I didn't turn blue in the face." Both men looked at her in shock. "Hey," she exclaimed, raising both hands, "joking here, just joking. Good grief, two men with literalitis in one room. 

"Come on," she said, leading Angel by the hand, "let's meet Angie." Christina pulled him into a side room, dropping books bag and jacket as she went. 

At the far end of the room facing away from them, facing the wall, a curly haired girl sat. She stared intently at a virt screen, fingertips lightly resting on something at bottom center. 

"Bodalay, Angie. I brought something for you to drool over." 

"Really," she asked, swiveling inher chair. "Well, introduce, don't be rude now." 

Christina made a face. "Angel, this is Angelina, Angelina Angel. Happy?" She asked first the girl then the vampire. "Great." 

"So you're the reason Chris here hasn't been going out with us on our weekly rounds. You are Angel the martial arts teacher, yes?" 

"Uh huh." 

"Tarnation and tail feathers!" 

They both turned at the unusual exclamation. 

"What do you think you're doing?" Angie looked at her friend. 

"Trying to get this drop for you," Christina replied, focused on the screen. "Ha! Got it and got your danger bar to zero." 

Angel looked over their shoulders, curious. He was met with a confusing mix of faces arranged in no particular pattern. If there were a point to this game, he didn't see it. 

"Okay, you got me a mondo drop, now go way." 

"Aw, come on. Let me play while you and Angel talk." 

"About what?" 

Christina shrugged. "Tell him 'bout what we do, what this club's all about. You're curious, aren't you Angel," she asked without turning. 

"Actually, I am." 

"See. Give him the spiel, give'im the great tour and I can play." She sounded almost desperate in her need. 

Angie sighed. "Okay, but you better not get smushed. 

"I love you, too." 

"Just play." She gestured for Angel to follow. "Now for the, uh, grand tour." 

"You know," Angel said, putting a hand on her shoulder, "you don't have to do this if you don't want." 

Angie smirked, unnaturally blue eyes sparkling, "I want to, really. Always enjoy a chance to show off, I just couldn't let Christi get off so easy." 

"Christi?" 

"Yeah," the girls said with a laugh. "We were going into Manhattan -- shopping trip -- when we ran into one of Christina's summer camp kids. She was adorable. Anyway, instead of calling Christina Christina or Chris or something all her kids called her Christi. We've been teasing her for months." 

"But she's not here." 

Angie shrugged. "I guess its kinda stuck now." 

A short bundle of energy stormed into the adjoining room. "That would be Phoenix. Hey, Phin," she yelled, "how'd it go with the copy lady?" 

"You mean that frelling excuse for chumbucket?" she yelled back. 

"Yeah." 

"She still won't give me a bloody receipt!" 

"Well come in the lounge and vent in front of company." 

Angel thanked his centuries of human habitation. The girls couldn't here it -- he realized they weren't really girls but it was another side-effect of centuries of human habitation -- but they were creating micro-echoes. It was set to drive him insane. He couldn't imagine spending all his time here. 

"Angel meet Phoenix, our project coordinator. Not only does she run this shindig, but she's the only one that gets paid" 

"Hey, you volunteered." 

"And where would you be without us? Anyway, Phoenix, this is Angel, Christi's friend and martial arts teacher. 

Phoenix extended her hand. Angel shook it. "So you're the hombre with the black belt and three classes a week. Nice to meet you." 

"Same here," he replied. "So Angelina was just about to tell me what you guys do around here." 

"Oh you know, the usual college students saving the world from the evils of government bureaucracy. Everything from transport hikes -- " 

"To tuition hikes," Angie interjected. "That's my project." 

"Christina just dropped hers." 

They were sitting in the various chairs and couches that made up the lounge. Angelina sat up. "Really, when?" 

"Earlier today." 

"Where was I?" 

"How should I know?" 

"Christi," Angie yelled, "get your project-dropping butt in here." 

"Why should I?" 

"Because I want you to and because yelling like this is annoying." 

"Just do what she says, I can't work like this," Burma added. 

Christina appeared, leaning on the door frame. "You called me away from Snood why? Hey Phin." 

"I heard you dropped your project." 

"Cha, so?" 

"So, why? I mean, well, why?" 

Before she could answer Angel asked, "What was your project?" 

Either she hadn't heard or was ignoring him. "I'll go over it later, Angie. Don't worry 'bout it I don't have enough time, between classes right now 'kay?" 

"A perfect ten." 

Christina turned and left the doorway. 

Angel stood. "If you ladies will excuse me, I have to get out of here." Shaking each girl's hand, he said, nice to meet you again." 

"You too," they replied. 

Angelina stood up. "Hey, where do you think your going?" Phoenix asked. "We have a meeting, why do you think I came over here?" 

"To vent?" 

Angel stood in the doorway of the alternate office, watching Christina shut down the virt screen. Turning around to grab her things, she saw him. "You ready," he asked. 

"Yeah. Hold this, please?" He took the bag from her as she put on her jacket. "Thanks. 

"Night guys," she called to the lounge. 

"Night. Later dayz," came the reply. 

"Night Burma, catcha on the flip side." 

The beefy man looked up from his terminal and waved. 

Standing side by side on the up escalator -- "exiting down-below" Christina liked to call it -- Angel finally voiced what was bothering him. "I thought you told me your five-fourty was canceled." 

The stepped off at the second floor. "It was." 

"So you just lied back there," he said, holding the door. 

"Cha. Thanks." 

"You're welcome. Why?" 

They stood in the courtyard between two class buildings. Christina shrugged. "If I'd told them I was free they would have wanted me to stay around. I wanted some me-time for once." 

They walked diagonally across the yard towards a far dark corner. "You know," she interrupted their comfortable silence, "if you weren't here I'd go through the building. It's kinda creepy walking down the ramp alone in the dark." 

"I'm not creepy?" 

"If you suddenly came out of the darkness," they turned a corner and for a brief moment she was surrounded by shadow while Angel was lit by a surreal glow. "-- maybe. But you're friend not foe, comfortable. Where are you parked?" 

They walked past the athletic field toward the old field library. The library had been moved back into LaGuardia Hall after renovations were completed. The corrugated aluminum barn-like structure had since been home to many things. 

"So why'd you drop the project," Angel asked. 

Christina shrugged. "You know, its my first year, I haven't turned seventeen yet and I'm plunged headlong into this socio-politico-take-up-all-your-time mess." She pushed her hands deeper in her pockets, adjusting her pack with her shoulders. "It's just," she took a breath, "I had to deal with so many people. I had to go to so many meetings and read through so much plas . . . I never felt like I was doing anything." 

"Sounds like you did a lot." 

Laughing, she agreed. "But I never felt like I was doing anything real. I did policy stuff, which is great, but when will I see it all happening? And yeah, it played havoc with my nonexistent social life," Christina added, smiling. 

They stood in front of the car. Christi yawned, covering her mouth. "Want a ride," Angel asked. 

She opened her mouth to say no then shut it. "Sure, why not." 

Except for giving him directions, the drive was silent. Christina was wrapped in her own thoughts and Angel was loath to intrude 

Passenger side there was a sharp hiss. 

Glancing from the corner of his eye, Angel saw Christina studying her middle finger intently. She noticed. "Paper cut from some plas in my pocket," she explained matter-of-factly. 

Angel nodded. 

The scent of blood filled the car. The cut was deeper than she thought. He watched as the surface of her fingernail filled with the forbidden fluid. 

"Are you sure you're okay," he asked. He could feel the demon enjoying his discomfort. "Why don't you turn on a light and check it out?" 

"It's a paper cut, don't worry," she replied looking out the window. 

The scent grew stronger. He should have fed before heading out. "Just check. I got a really bad cut from some plasheets once." 

"Sure, okay. Lights up." Christina glanced at her hand. "Tarnati--" the rest was lost as she stuck her bleeding in her mouth. She mumbled a thanks. 

"Don't worry about it. Lights off." 

Silence swallowed the car once again. 

With his peripheral vision, Angel watched Christina pull her finger from her mouth, studying the wound avidly. Find the small slice she squeezed the flesh around it forcing blood to surface. She sucked it off with a soft kissing sound. 

_You want that blood. You want that power. You can smell it._ He could. _It's getting stronger while she messes with that stupid finger._ It was. _She doesn't even know the power she possesses._ She didn't. Angel could smell its latency in the small amount already spilled. 

Finally satisfied that it wouldn't bleed on its own, Christina turned her attention back to the world outside her window. 

Angel fought the temptation his demon presented. _They had tasted the blood of the Slayer once before, they could seduce the out of this nascent one._ Resisting hers was more difficult than most humanity's. They didn't promise the power he and his demon craved. 

"Right over here. Thanks for taking me Angel. You know how to get back on the highway?" 

"Down the block, turn left, turn left again and keep going till I run into lots of traffic, right?" He repeated the directions from memory rather than her own telling. 

"Cha. See you next week or maybe tomorrow at the Center. Night," she said closing the car door. 

One entire wall of the room was covered in pictures. A table held still more and plasheets of information. There were pictures of her walking to and from the camera. There were pictures of her reading, listening to music, listening to people. They were unposed, flat two-dimensional black and whites. Some were taken by Angel, others by whoever liked his price. 

These were his surveillance photos. None of them were particularly new, the most recent dating a week before they met. He'd been trying to verify her identity and now he finally had no doubt. Then why did a strange ball of dread and hope form in his stomach whenever he talked to her? Why did his demon enjoy riling him even more in her presence or when her image came unbidden to his mind's eye? Why had Cordelia Chase Whittingham told him to stay away with such vehemence it'd caused a falling out between the two? 

Who was Christina Marie Singletary, the bringer of Apocalypse herself? 

Beneath the table were the remains of five other similar stacks of photos. Each stack was of a girl, a girl he'd been watching, looking for signs of her power. It'd taken him the better part of two months -- months of relentless research -- to decide on the six. Neither Bishop or the Watcher's Council had been much help. Cordelia knew something, but with the stubbornness of age, she kept her mouth shut. 

"We think she's on the East Coast," was all the information Bishop had been able to supply. 

"Why?" 

"Well there's absolutely no data on this girl. There are no prophesies, no mystical seeings and all attempts to broach the question with either spirits or demons has turned up nothing." 

"Yet you tell me to start on the East Coast. Thought you said all was silent on the Western Front about this girl." 

"Yes well, those things concerning the Eastern Coast of the United States are more silent still." 

"So you think that's where I'll find her." 

"I hope so." 

"Thanks a lot Bishop, you're so helpful." 

"I'll keep researching."  
"Do that." 

Christina almost hadn't made the list at all. She wasn't involved in any afterschool sports. She had no history of fighting in any shape or form. She got along well with authority and she was an avowed, according to the profile created by the computer, day person. 

There was one red flag. 

Angel remembered tapping the little icon. It opened a record on school administration comments. 

"Well, we knew it was a possibility and probability that this would happen. I had Christina in my office a little while ago. She assures me she's fine, that she can handle it," the man smiles kindly, "but she's eleven years old. She's spoken to George but refuses to do anything about the girls. Of course George and I have spoken, he said the girls seem honestly penitent, not just putting on an act." He adjusted his glasses before going on. "Officially there's nothing I can do. The girls' parents have been called, I called Christina's mom myself. We'll just have to see how it works out." 

There was another comment, dated the next school year. "While its no secret some of the older boys, hell her whole class is older, enjoy picking on her Christina's been pretty admirable in ignoring them. I suppose Kevin's pulling on her bag at dismissal today was just the last straw. Sweet, nice, needs-to-do-her-homework Christina turned around and kneed Kevin. I didn't witness the, uh," he paused, "event. Apparently it happened off school grounds so we can't do anything about it. Ms. Samuel came back upstairs and told me about it. I'll try to talk to Christina tomorrow --" There was more but the program wasn't concerned with it. 

Angel remembered scanning through the rest of the file. There'd been another two incidents for seventh grade. Eighth was very quiet, but the computer found something nonetheless. 

"Christina's doing better. She's going to Randolph but that's all in her records. Talk about all quiet on the Western Front, there hasn't been a single incident concerning her this year. If she weren't so nice I'd say the boys were afraid of her." 

It'd been a very slim lead but one more option couldn't hurt. 

And then his hired lackeys hadn't been able to take pictures of her on Sunday. She photographed fine, the just couldn't fine her on Sunday morning. He'd personally planted a bug on her which stopped sending promptly at 12 A.M. It reactivated around 4 P.M. 

If nothing else his curiosity was peaked. Angel went back through her records. All her teachers seemed to say the same thing; she never got into trouble, not because she went unnoticed but because Christina's attackers seemed to secretly fear her. The girl was oblivious. 

It was a very small lead, a hunch really. 

"It's a piss-poor hunch if you ask me," Gunn had said. 

Beside him Wesley agreed. 

"Why exactly are you two together," Angel asked. 

The two elderly men looked at each other then Angel through the viewcam. "Karoake," Wesley answered. 

"Yeah, Keisha's," his granddaughter, "making the rounds tonight and we're doing karoake," Gunn added. 

"Karoake," Angel said speculatively. 

"Right." 

"Together." 

"Uh huh." 

"To sing?" 

"Maybe." 

"This conversation has gone on way too long. Later." 

It _had_ been a very thin lead to go on. Angel hadn't been it was even worth it until that night. She was what they'd been searching for, what they would need most -- they didn't have enough time. 

Why couldn't Cordelia understand. She was still the Seer. What did she see that was so wrong and why wouldn't she tell him? He'd gone through the Council records himself. The end of Katarina's tenure and Olivia's immaturity were foretold then there was a four year silence. 

"Harder." 

_Oomph_. 

"Again." 

_Oomph_. 

"Harder." 

_Oomph_. 

"You're holding back." 

_Oomph_. "I'm not." 

"You are." 

_Oomph_. 

"Harder!" 

_Oomph_. 

"You're wasting my time." 

"Am not." _Oomph_. 

"You're holding back, i.e. wasting my time." 

"I. Am. Not!" _Riiiip_! "Oh my God, I'm sorry Angel, I'm so sorry." 

"Don't be." 

"It's just . . . I mean . . . I didn't mean --" 

"You stopped holding back. That's a good thing." 

"It's just that its so late and my friends and work are making me crazy. And then all that stuff you were saying --" 

"I know. That was the point." 

"You wanted that to happen?" 

"I was hoping it would." 

"What's going on?" 

"Don't worry about it?" 

"What's going on?" 

"It's not an issue, I promise." 

"What's. . . going . . . On?" 

"You didn't hold back that last time, right?" 

"Cha." 

"But you didn't realize you were pulling your punches, did you?" 

"Right." 

"And now you know you've got the potential, right?" 

"Cha." 

"Exactly." 

There was a knock on the door. Phoenix looked up. "Hi, Angel right? How can I help you?" 

"I'm looking for Christi." He'd taken to using their pet name for her. 

"Well she hasn't been by the club room all day. Actually she hasn't been around much at all this week but she's s'pose to show up soon." 

"Mind if I hang out?" 

Phoenix shrugged. 

"Angel, hey, why're you standing in the door?" Christina smiled up at the dark man. 

There was a catcall from the other side. "What's with the look." 

"Hey Phin." She looked down at herself. "This, a shimmer skirt and a workshirt and boots?" 

"Excuse me, but aren't you jeans and t-shirt girl?" 

Christina shrugged uncommitedly, a little coldly Angel thought. A situation was brewing. He tapped her shoulder. "Ready to go?" 

She turned from Phoenix, "Yeah," and walked out. 

"Hey," she called after them, "do we know how to say good-bye?" 

Christina kept walking, Angel in tow. 

On the escalator he asked, "What happened back there?" 

"Don't concern yourself about it," came her ambiguous reply. 

"Are you all right? You're not usually so -- cold." The got off and walked out the double doors. 

"It's nothing really, just a lot of junior high/high school crap. Club intrigue." Christina strode across the courtyard and down the ramp. 

The car doors were open before she pulled at the passenger side . . . a little too forcefully. Driving home with Angel had become rote. "Upset?" 

She fumed for a little while before answering, "Noticed?" 

"Okay, don't take your fury out on me." 

Sighing she apologized. "It's just that this stuff is _so_ petty, its _so _dumb." 

"But its bothering you to no end." 

"Because it was covert and it involved me. I don't like it when people go behind my back," she ground out. 

The lights of the college, and the source of her anger, retreated in the rearview mirror. He found her staring into it and her side view mirror as if willing her antagonizers to confront her. There were minuscule tremors running through her body and Angel thought he tasted salt in the air. 

Desperation seemed to mold itself to her. 

"My birthday's coming up," she started. "My mom's throwing a party -- really a get together -- for me," Christina said slowly with forced calm. "It's really a 'I want to meet your new friends' kind of thing, my birthday's just a good excuse." 

For a moment she didn't say anything but stared out the window at the passing cars and passing lights. She sighed and was calmer still. Meeting his eyes through the rearview mirror she said, "Would you like to come." 

Angel knew her birthday was coming. The information was part of her personal profile. By inviting him to the get together she'd solved a problem for him. 

Christina misread his silence for hesitance. "It's not going to be on Thursday, just to let you know," she said talking to his eyes. "Carmen and Carlo are coming over so we're going to have it Friday -- school and all, you know." 

"Sure I'll be there." 

A deep pulsating took the place of his heart. Angel followed it up the twisting staircase. This was his first time approaching the apartment from the front. To his surprise the door opened as he approached. He didn't know they had that kind of technology. 

"We don't," came an answer. Christina popped her head around the door. "Would you come in already? I can't close the door until you're inside." She hadn't noticed his pause. "Lemme get your coat. Don't worry you're not last," she rambled on, taking the surprising heavy garment and hanging it up. "This is the humble abode," she commented leading him down the hall. "We passed my room --" _with the art supplies in the window,_ he added mentally, "-- and the bathroom and finally Mom's room." _Better known as the family library_. 

"You know Carmen and Carlo." They'd left the long hallway and stood at the threshold of the living room. The other two C's waved. "Don't worry I've made them promise not to call you Sensei. 

"Um this is, is -- its right on the tip of my tongue!" 

The young woman Christina tried to name stood and plucked her friend. "Thanks a lot Chris." 

"Hey! And don't call me 'Chris' around Mom." 

"Hi, my name is Rebecca," she said ignoring her friend and extending her hand. "And you are?" 

"Angel." 

"Ah," she said, raising an eyebrow, "so you're Angel." 

Christina shook her head at her friend's flirtatious behavior. 

Angel responded with an charming smile of his own. "Whatever she said," he leaned down for a conspiratal stage whisper, "it's all true." 

"Ooo," Rebecca purred, "I like him." She took his arm possessively and drew Angel to the couch. 

He threw Christina a trapped look. 

"Becca, you can't claim him yet, " she said extricating the trapped man, "Angel hasn't met my mom yet." 

"Thank you," he whispered in a tone he knew only she could hear. 

Her response was equally low, "Don't thank me yet, you've still gotta deal with her when we're done. "Hey Mum," she said, raising her voice to a conversational tone, "meet Angel." 

An older, though young herself, looked up from the platters of food on the kitchen counters. "Hi," she said with a friendly smile, "you're the martial arts teacher at school and the Center, yes?" He nodded. "Great. Sorry 'bout not shaking your hand but I don't want you to have to wash yours too." 

"No problem," he answered with a smile. "Uh, what should I call you?" 

"Ms. Singletary's okay." 

"Okay." 

Carlo stepped into the wide doorless threshold. "Someone named Tucker wants to come up." 

Christina perked. "I got it. Be right back." 

"What about Rebecca?" Angel called after her but the vibrating music swallowed his question. 

"What about Rebecca?" Ms. Singletary echoed. 

He peaked around the corner into the leaving room. Becca waved. "She, uh, has taken a liking to me." 

Pulling a cloth from the sink she wiped off her hands and stepped into the living room. "I hope no one needs Angel because I do. No?" She hadn't really given anyone a chance to answer -- not that Carlo or Carmen were going to, they knew better -- "No. Perfect." She turned back into the kitchen, "You're safe for now." 

"Thanks." 

"Well don't thank me yet, I really do need the help. Oh, look, I rhymed. Like I was saying, these platters ended up heavier than I thought. Anyhow I wanted to talk to you." 

This was a tone Angel knew very well but hadn't heard in nearly half a century. "Yes?" 

"Do you do dishes?" 

Angel laughed. "Yes." 

"Great, lets get started. You dry." They quickly developed companionable rhythm set to the music around them. 

"Oh Mumsie," Christina sang over the music, propelling a young man before her, "meet Tucker." 

Ms. Singletary wiped her hands on Angel's drying cloth. "Hi, hope the apartment wasn't too hard to find." 

"Nah, not at all," the young man answered, "I actually live pretty close." 

Christina walked over and gave her mother a quick kiss. "Do you need me to do anything?" 

"If you could take that plate of chips out I'd be greatly appreciative," she replied in an overdone Southern accent. 

"That'd be no problem at'all," her daughter answered in kind. 

"Okay," Ms. Singletary dropped the accent, "but you might want to let your friend help, they're heavy." 

The two walked out with junk food. There were grateful cheers from the other room. 

Angel and Ms. Singletary resumed their dishwashing. "You don't mind being at a teen party?" She asked. 

"Except for being attacked it doesn't seem so bad." 

There was a moment of relative silence as one song ended and a lull in conversation formed. Another pulse making song started. The boys added to the sonic mix turning on Christina's gaming system. 

"Angel," Ms. Singletary started, her voice too low to be heard over the music by anyone else but him. "Angel I want you to know what I have to say weighs heavily on my spirit. I'm not just saying this to say it but I feel pressed to."  
He looked at her. Her concentration was on the sink. 

"Angel, I know who you are. I know why you're here. Angel," he could feel her eyes on him, "I know what you are." 

Brown eyes met in a stalemate. 

Christina came bounding in. "Gabriella's here" she said grinning from ear to ear oblivious to the tension. Wrapping her arms about her mother she exclaimed, "Kiss me you fool!" 

With soapy fingers Ms. Singletary pinched her daughters cheeks then gave her numerous small kisses on her forehead. "Mom!" She squealed in mock protest before bouncing happily away. 

_They really don't look alike_, Angel thought. "I don't want to take your child away..." 

"But you have to, I know, I understand, that's not what I was going to say." She paused. "You have to tell her. She's going to figure it out and if she does before you tell her she'll won't help you. Tina's very loyal and mild mannered, it takes her a long time to forgive a betrayal of her trust." 

All the dishes were washed and dried. With the water off the sounds of cheers and cries of defeat could be heard from the adjoining room. 

"Okay," drying her hands for the last time Ms. Singletary ordered, "um take that platter." Angel complied still off-center from the woman's revelation. "Or no." She tapped her foot and chewed on a fingernail. "Okay, take that one." He looked at her skeptically. "Yes, I mean it this time." 

Angel was mobbed before he could set the plate down. "Oh food, bless you," Carmen exclaimed melodramatically. 

"And then the daddy-long-legs climbed outta her sleeve cuff -- she had them rolled up -- and up her arm," Carlo grinned. Beside him Christina was blushing. "Me and car just stared. Chris, um I mean Tina, was looking at us like 'What? What?' I swear that thing was huge." 

"Oh," Carmen broke in, "and then it was on her collar. And still all I could do was stare at it --" 

Christina hid her face in her hands. "Oh please no," she said but she was laughing as hard as everyone else. 

They'd been telling funny stories and somehow it had turned to talking about her. Ms. Singletary told them every embarrassing baby adventure she could remember. Angel related her first hard fall -- and subsequent fat -- followed by Rebecca and stories from high school. Carlo and Carmen were ganging up on her about their first camping trip. 

"So its there, right," Carmen went on, ignoring the birthday girl, "right on the edge of her shirt and its got one leg extended like its trying to wave or something." 

"Yeah but instead it starts crawling down Tina's back," Carlo went on. 

"Hey," Christina protested, "it did not crawl down my back!" 

"She's right. She smushed it before it could get all the way down." 

"Well it had been tickling me." 

"Uh huh, sure. Right so she looks at me and Car and she says 'What was that?' in a complete deadpan. Me, I'm speechless but Carmen manages to squeak out 'Daddy-long-legs'." 

Carmen nodded. "You should have been there. The look on Chris' face was a perfect ten. Then before we know it she lets out this shriek that sent birds flying and she's hopping around camp like a chicken with its head cut off." 

"How do you know what a chicken with its head cut off looks like?" 

"I've been you're friend all your life Carlo and you have to ask? That's how you run." 

The room erupted in laughter. Carlo flushed and ducked his head. 

Ms. Singletary came to his rescue. "Okay I think we've taken enough stabs at everyone. How bout opening gifts?" The teen shot her look of utter gratitude. "Come on people, Tina's gonna be eighteen by the time you get yourselves together." 

A pile of torn wrapping and tissue paper later, Christina tore into her last gift. "Another one from Mum," she read the tag. 

"Girl open up," Rebecca pleaded. 

"Working, working," she answered shredding the gift wrap. "Ooo, jewelry box," she smiled at the curious faces, "lets see what's inside." Nested inside was velvet drawstring pouch. Carefully Christina pulled it open. "Oh Mom!" she squealed in delight. Irrespective of the other gifts, garbage and people around her, Christina leapt up and gave Ms. Singletary a hug. "I can't believe you got it!" 

"Well you said you liked it. You do like it?" 

"Oh cha." 

"Well then put it on already." 

Out from the velvet Christina drew a narrow silver cuff. Its center was set with a rectangular band of lapis lazuli. The intricate design along its arms were familiar to Angel. 

Ooh's and Ahh's went up from the girls. 

Superstitious vampires wore similar bracelets as a way of protection against the sun. Supposedly the symbols made the wearer impervious to the sun's deadly force, usually set with no stones at all. It never worked. 

"Anyone hungry?" Ms. Singletary asked. Nearly ever hand went up. "Angel, come help." 

Returning to the living room, Angel understood her former tormentors' trepidation. Christina set in the far corner of the couch right leg bent beneath her, the left crossed over it. The gold flecks in the lapis winked at him from her knee. She sat with a casual aura of power and reigned violence staring into middle space. 

Someone spoke her name; she uncrossed her legs and smiled. The moment was over. 

"I had fun Chris." 

"Me too." Carmen and Carlo slammed the car door. "Thanks for bringing us home Angel." 

"No problem guys. See you at practice." 

Carmen leaned in the passenger side window. "Happy seventeenth girlie." They hugged awkwardly. 

"Thank you. And next time remember not to call me Chris in from of Mom." 

"You got it." 

Christina watched her friends walk away. "All right, let's jetta. I know it gets cold around my birthday but this is ridiculous." 

"So what are you doing for your birthday on Sunday?" 

Confused she said, "Did I tell you my b-day's actually the fourteenth?" 

"No." 

"Did Mom or Carmen tell you?" 

"No." 

"Ookay." She released a short nervous laugh and looked at him. "So how'd you know it's Sunday and could you explain on the road, I'm cold." 

"So you have a feel for Tucker." 

Christina gave Angel and exasperated look then looked at the windshield. "Bad way of changing the non-subject." 

"Don't you?" 

She let out a breath, "Yes. Yes I like Tucker, can we go now? And I don't see what this has to do with anything." 

Angel looked at her for the first time since Carmen and Carlo said their good-byes. "Does he know?" 

"Nooo," she was silently fuming. Something about his line of questioning was striking a very annoyed nerve. "What does it matter? 

"I have to tell you . . .something." Out of her sight Angel gripped the bottom of the steering wheel, his knuckles white.  
Her answer, "What is it, you have a secret feel for Carmen," was dangerously low. 

Angel didn't want to do it. He didn't want to confess. It seemed he'd come this far only to be stopped by nerves. 

"I'm a vampire." 

Something broke within Christina. The tension, the anger drained away like water through a sieve. She smiled and looked him in the eye --, "I don't believe in vampires." 

-- brown eyes that transmuted into gold. It was if another face were emerging from inside the one she knew. For an ephemeral moment she felt the need to touch his . . . deformities, ridges? She didn't know what had become of Angel's face but as curiosity lost to confusion reality set in. 

Christina took a deep breath and screamed. Angel cringed and covered his ears as the sound reverberated through the car. 

A different instinct took over. Christina slammed her fist into the vampire's nose, shattering bone, followed by the heel of her hand to his jaw. His teeth connected with a satisfying click. Before he could react she scrambled for the door making sure to kick Angel in the gut on the way out. 

Dashing across the familiar cul-de-sac Christina didn't ponder how Angel's own teachings had helped her. She didn't consider his attentiveness or quiet friendship. She ran in utter terror and fear. 

"Christina." 

She hadn't seen him appear in front of her. 

She shrieked and stopped short. Still vamped out, blood ran down Angel's nose into his mouth. Gingerly he touched the healing wound. Inside the demon crowed. It could sense his unease, could smell her fear and almost taste it in her blood. 

"So," Christina asked, capturing the attention of both demon and man, "what are you gonna do now, bite me?" 

"No," Angel answered. _But he wants to_, came the demon's reply as though she could hear. "I need your help." 

Christina laughed but it touched on hysteria. Her mind probably couldn't take much more shock. 

A scream reverberated in the distance. 

Vampire and Slayer stood frozen. Christina's breathing was suddenly loud in the cold autumn air. A blank look settled on her face as her eyes met Angel's. 

"Carmen," she mouthed, her brain only completing half the equation. 

Time began again as another load of adrenaline flooded her body. Seeing without seeing Christina pushed past Angel, running. She hurdled the low wall separating the cul-de-sac from the apartment complex. Angel was at her heels. Familiar as the area was, he trusted Christina's direction. This had been her home for thirteen years. 

The lights meant to make the little park feel safe became sinister. Shadows from naked trees shifted, writhing like clawed arthritic hands. Christina saw none of it. 

A new kind of fear enveloped her. She skidded to a halt sliding on her knees under the orange lamplight over the prone body of her friend. "Carmen," she whispered looking for a pulse. Muttering at her inefficiency Christina picked up her best friend's hand but stopped midway. Her fingertips were covered in blood. 

"Nine-one-one. Call 911." Her voice was growing shrill. The stresses of the past half hour had successfully broken her calm demeanor. "Car, Car honey," she said stroking the older girl's hair, "please open your eyes." Tears streamed down her cheeks. "Carmen please!" she screamed. 

Angel could smell his student's lifeblood, Christina's saline grief and the stink of another vampire. "Christina," he said pulling at her shoulders, "come away. She's dead," he said quietly. Christina was crying uncontrollably now. "Stand up Christi. The ambulance is on its way," but she didn't move. She couldn't move. 

Locked in her grief and the chemical aftermath of excess adrenaline she heard without hearing. 

Finding no resistance, Angel pulled the girl into his embrace. Arms tucked in close, Christina sobbed into his shoulder. Again Time seemed to subside as Angel's arms, her tears and her own warm body becoming her reality. 

Eventually the tears stopped. Huddled in Angel's arms Christina breathed in his cologne. She was existing without thought. 

Sirens broke the serenity. Time took over. 

They sat outside Christina's apartment. For over an hour they had been questioned numerous times by detectives about Carmen's death. What was their relation to the deceased? Had they seen anyone? Where were they when they heard the scream? 

The questions ran together, began to repeat until, despite regaining her semblance of calm, Angel had insisted on taking Christina home. They would answer all the questions in the world so long as she didn't have to endure this on her birthday. 

"I'm sorry," Angel said, not quite able to meet Christina's eyes. 

"It wasn't your fault," she said quietly. There was resolve in her voice. "If anything I'm to blame." Before he could protest Christina pressed on, "If I had known, if I hadn't --," she shook her head, "I've decided I'm going with you to LA. I'll have to get my school credits transferred --" 

"Done." 

"--and tell my mom --" 

"She knows I don't know how but she knew what I was from the beginning." 

"-- then we can leave . . . after the funeral."   
[][1]  
  
[][1]  


   [1]: http://www.gurlpages.com/tinpra/main.html



	5. The Beginning of the End: LA

Body _Lyrics from "Crash and Burn" (Sheryl Crow, The Globe Sessions); "No Angel" (Dido, No Angel)_

§§§ 

The Beginning of The End: LA 

It had been a very long, very quiet, trip. Admittedly it would have gone faster had Angel not decided to teach her how to drive. . . 

For the nth time in as many days he glanced at the girl. Watching her sleep reminded him ever more of that fact. _She's just a child._ It was hard to imagine her button nose, childishly pouty mouth and baby fat cheeks in anything other than a smile. 

She wore a hard sullen expression most of the trip. Angel would learn it was a form of her non-look. 

There was a soft crackling as they moved out of range of one radio station and into another. He listened with half an ear only concerned that what came on was soft, relaxing. Strangely the demon was silent as Angel played mother hen. Much as he tried he couldn't resist looking at her again. 

Her deep breathing and even heartbeat filled the spaces between the music. Her eyes no longer fluttered behind their lids chasing a dream. 

Angel drove for another hour and a half at nearly reckless speeds. All the good people of the world lay in bed sleeping, dreaming, wishing. He carried one away from hers. 

The radio crackled as they passed out of range of yet another station. It did not automatically pick up another. Angel hit the Seek button. 

_". . .I gave away all my loose ends,"_ came quietly over the radio. The words seemed to fill the car. _"Somebody said you got to getaway. . .to wanna go back home again."_ It felt like the singer was there with them, _"I left my universe standing there . . .holdin' the hand of my best friend._ I had to learn that once," Christina spoke for the first time in hours. 

Angel was taken aback. Neither her breathing nor heart rate had changed in any noticeable way. He gave her as long a look as he could spare. She was still curled in the reclined seat with her back to him. Angel recovered quickly. "Welcome to LA," his said, voice gruff from ill use. 

The would-be Slayer turned and sat up, wiping sleep from her eyes. 

_"And I might be stupid enough,"_ she sang along softly, _"to wanna fall again . . .cuz I've gotten used to the crash and burn . . ."_

Angel watched Christina go through her routine: first a right side kick then, pivoting, a left side kick finished with a back roundhouse. It had taken nearly half an hour to work up to this stage with the Slayer-in-training adding a move as she perfected the previous one. Each new step added difficulty to the routine. The first few goes at the roundhouse failed miserably as Christina disciplined herself in the tricky balance. 

"Left cross," he called out. The routine of training had come easier. Christina threw herself into the work with cold clinical passion. 

She finished the three kick maneuver and punched her imaginary opponent. Repositioning herself she began again, the left cross becoming part of the sequence. By the end of another half hour Angel had added a knee raise between the side kicks, a right back elbow after the left cross, a right uppercut following that and three rapid fire punches. 

The training room was filled with the scent of Christina's sweat. 

"Take a break." 

Christina's shoulders sagged in relief. Tempting as it was to pour the contents of the water bottle on her head, she drank slowly. Angel never needed to teach her that lesson, childhood had already showed her the result of large quantities of cold water on a hot body. She didn't want to double over with stomach cramps. 

The punching bag disappeared under Christina's smooth rhythm. A loud smack resounded throughout the training room. Christina buckled but did not fall. Hardly losing pace she kicked up the quarter staff at her feet and faced her opponent. "Morning, Keisha." 

"Morning yourself slow poke. My grandmother has molasses quicker than you," the brown girl grinned. 

The two young women circled, staffs in the defensive. "I don't think Gunn would appreciate being called molasses." 

The girl's eyes widened. She attacked. 

Christina deflected it easily. 

They circled again. 

"So," Keisha said in a voice that belied the tension, "what happened to you?" 

Christina gave a light attack. The crack of the heavy staffs was sporadic. "What do you mean?" 

"Well," _thrust, deflect, poke, crack,_ "your hair." _Thud, plunge, block, crack, _"When was the last time you looked in a mirror girl?" 

For a silent moment Christina froze in anger. Keisha wasn't sure whether or not it was genuine but used the opening to swing at her head. 

The Slayer-to-be ducked. 

"You, you," she stuttered, "fashionista!" _Crack!_

Though Keisha giggled they fought in earnest. Staffs cracked and whirred and sang in the midmorning air. Arms and legs moved with blinding speed; hands and feet struck with blind certainty. Sweat ran into their eyes, trickled down their spines, plastered their hair to their necks. 

Yet they were eerily silent. Occasionally Christina would grin madly or Keisha's eyes would flash triumph. There had been a time when she summarily beat the Slayer in every match. The tide was turning. Every parley shuddered through their bodies; every contact made threatening to splinter wood; every landed hit eliciting a grimace of silent pain. 

And as the violent dance wended its way across the floor the floor Angel watched from his perch in equally silent study. 

As if by consensus the two stopped. Quarter staffs akimbo, chests heaving, heat coming from them in waves the women stared at each other. Christina let out a yell. Keisha released on of her own. 

Here the fight turned outrageous. 

Where there had once been deadly intent was pure flippery. Where there had been shuddering force was stylized violence.  
"So," the Slayer called running up a wall and flipping over her friend, "how was your weekend?" 

Using her quarter staff for counter balance Keisha kicked her friend in the stomach. "Perfect ten!" 

"Ow, that hurt!" 

"Shouldn't have landed so close." 

Christina snorted. "Like you could have even cleared that jump." Instead of charging Keisha she did a series of Russian spins. "Whoa dizzy." 

"But that was pretty cool." The girls locked staffs stuck in a stalemate. 

They struggled -- one step forward, one back -- neither gaining or losing. "So," Christina went on, "dish. I want details." 

Keisha grinned through the sweat and hair damp on her face. "Let's just say," she pushed Christina away, " 'I was struck down by his angel face'" 

They laughed loud and long as Angel left the room. 

"That was good." Christina nodded in agreement. "I'll see you downstairs later?" 

"Yeah, yeah, just gotta beat up some dummies. Catch ya on the flipside Keish," she called watching her friend descend in the private elevator. Angel's training room was the very top floor of the Hyperion Arms, his hotel. In the years since renovation it had done well. Rent from boarders and tourists provided steady income between cases for Angel Investigations. Besides, he owned the hotel, he worked for the firm. 

Her rooms were on the floor below. Though there were three apartments -- penthouse suites really -- she was the only "renter." Angel's suite was directly below hers: more apartments, not as grand. She'd asked him nice why he didn't rent the other two suites on her floor. His reply was always cryptic. 

Halfway across the room and to a dry towel a surprised shriek tore from Christina's throat. There was a band of stone around her neck and a wall of iron behind her back. Mustering her worn reserves she elbowed him. She grabbed the arm at her neck, digging her nails deep and threw him. _You'd think he'd learn to wear long sleeves_, she thought. 

Angel was on his feet again in moments. Christina dove between his spread legs reaching for the fallen staff behind him. Flipping onto her back, she swung at him missing his back as he turned. Instead she struck him in the ribs. "Good enough." He grunted, taking the brunt of the impact. Grabbing the staff he yanked her up on her feet. "Unholy crunchpod," she muttered. 

For a moment they played tug of war over the stick. Without warning Christina let go, sending him flying. She sighed, at least now it was over. Angel stood and she realized it wasn't at all. "Argh! Evil. Can't we do this some other time?" 

A right cross connected with her chin. "Ow! All right, not." This up close and personal stuff wasn't her preferred style of fighting, but if she had to. . . 

Christina's knee connected with Angel's groin. While he was doubled over in pain she drove her elbow into his back. Angel fell to the floor. Grinning Christina stepped on his kidneys. Growling Angel yanked her left foot out from under her. 

Hand to her head Christina moaned. "I didn't know heads bounced." Arms spread wide she felt her strength drain into the floor. 

Angel knelt over her prone body. "Get up. Let's finish." 

"I'm tired," she said rolling her eyes, "let's not." 

"What are you going to do, Christina, when you've been working all day, fought vampires all night and one last demon decides to attack before sunrise?" 

"I don't know, _Angel_," she said, exasperated, "but it certainly wouldn't be you," and worn out, "now would it?" Her head fell to one side. 

She couldn't know the scent she gave off. Her sweet sweat was rich with complete surrender and utter defeat. And though he didn't need to, Angel breathed it in along with the unique smell that belong only to a Slayer. She couldn't know the compelling and seductive mixture she created. She couldn't know that blood feuds had been started between vampires over the promise -- the mere promise -- of what blood like hers would taste like. She couldn't know how his demon taunted and urged and, in the end, begged for her. 

Angel morphed into game face. "Wouldn't I?" 

Slay-sense suddenly jumping to red, Christina turned her head. With a grunt she managed to punch him squarely in the jaw before giving up again, panting for breath. 

The vampire pushed off the floor disgusted with his pupil but more so with himself. 

"Keish, Keisha, you gotta help me. You too Gunn." 

"Me too what?" 

There were two kitchens in the Hyperion, the one for guests and the one in the back. It was a part of the office, sitting room and anti-chambers also in the back. The old outdated servants quarters -- technically no longer a part of the property -- had been converted into Angel Investigations' headquarters. 

Christina rushed over to the pair. "You have to help me." 

"With what?" Keisha listened to the exchange over coffee. 

"Making Angel laugh." Grandfather and -daughter sputtered and coughed over their respective breakfasts. "Look, we made a bet a while ago: if I can make him laugh then I can have a free Saturday." 

Setting her mug down with a thud, Keisha stood. "I'm in." 

"Now, hold on," the old man said, putting a hand out to stop the foolish girls, "how do you even know Angel will remember this promise? How long ago did you make it?" Christina shrugged. "Girl. . .do you know how grumpy that vamp is in the morning?" 

"Unfortunately." 

Gunn looked from his granddaughter to the not-quite-Chosen One. "Man, ya'll need my help." 

"Thanks Grandpa," Keisha threw her arms around the man's neck. 

"Yeah, I know you love me. So what was the plan?" 

Keisha looked back at her friend. "What do you think, a song?"  
"A silly one," Christina qualified. 

"Perfect ten." 

Gunn raise his hands in protest, "Hold up --" but the girls were too enthused by their idea. 

"Oh, this is great, but we need a song." 

"Well, cha." 

"One with words silly." 

"Double cha silly. That's why I asked Gunn --" 

"Yes," he rolled his eyes, "I do exist people." 

Christina smiled sheepishly, "Sorry Gunn." 

"Sorry Grandpa," but though she apologized, Keisha grinned. "So what's on that gray mind of yours?" 

Gunn stroked his graying goatee thoughtfully. "Something with words. Well, there goes music from the past two decades." The girls nodded following the old man into Angel investigation's sitting room. "Now what was that song . . .God knows I couldn't get it outta my head for months. Wasn't like I didn't try." 

"All right already," Keisha grabbed her grandfather's arm, "what is it?" 

"Well I don't know if its still here or not. I _think_ she left it but, with Cordy, you never know. Keish, girl, lay off," he said pulling his arm out of her grasp. I know Marina taught you better than that." 

Christina laughed at her friend's rebuke. "Okay, okay, so what is it? And who's Cordy?" 

"Forget I mentioned her -- especially around Angel. Aight, we are looking for a disc. It's not a midi," he used the shorthand for mini-disc, "but its about yea big," and created the dimension with his hands, "and silver. Look for the words 'No Angel' on the disc." 

"Jeez, that's massive," Keisha whispered to her friend. 

"It might be in a case. The cover's black, I think. Hell, just look for the title!" Gunn didn't know how he got in these situations. "Found it." 

Keish stared at it in horror. "What is that?" 

"It's a compact disc," Christina answered. "My mom has some of those. I made her convert them to mini-disc." 

"Compact how?" 

"So what's on the menu Gunn?" 

He tossed a small yellowing booklet at her. "How fast can you two learn a song?" 

The girls shared a quick look. "Real fast." 

"All right then, pick and choose." 

The scanned the lyrics making comments to themselves while Gunn watched, bored. "Could ya'll make up your minds? The man won't sleep all day." Keisha frowned. 

"Yay," Christina exclaimed, "this one is perfect." 

"What is it?" Christina handed the booklet over. "Oh God, not that one." 

"Why, what's wrong with it?" 

"Nothin', it's perfect. Except that Angel'll probably blow his top instead of chuckle for ya, that's all." 

Christina looked at him perplexed, "But if it's perfect --" 

"Morning," _yawn_, "everyone." 

Keisha elbowed her friend. "It's now or never," she whispered and pushed play. 

"_What_ is that?" Angel asked. 

Tentatively Christina walked up to him and asked, "Angel can I have the day off?" 

_Yawn_. "No. We have too much work to do." 

"Please?" 

"Let it go, Christi. It's not happening." He spared her half a glance looking for a coffee mug. 

"Oh?" 

He looked behind him. "Yes." 

"Okay, then I just have to tell you _If you gave me just one coin for every time we say good-bye --_" she sang off key. 

"What is this," Angel exclaimed. 

"_-- well I'd be rich beyond my dreams. I'm sorry for my weary life._" Growling he told her to stop. Christina was beginning to enjoy herself. There was something about singing badly and taunting her teacher by dancing around him that was immensely pleasurable. She couldn't stop now. 

"_I know I'm not perfect but I --_" at the off key high note Angel covered his more sensitive ears and Gunn left. 

"_ -- behind my tired eyes. If you tell me that I can't I will, I will, I'll try all night._" Keisha joining in the horrendous performance. "_And if I say I'm comin' home I'll probably be out all night. I know I can be afraid but I'm alive and I hope that you trust this heart behind my tired eyes._" Both girls looked up at Angel with their best puppy dog stare but couldn't keep it up long. They were caught up in the childishness of the moment and descended into giggles. 

"_I'm no Angel_," they pointed to the irate vampire, "_but please don't think that I won't try and try._" 

"To make him laugh?" Keisha asked. 

Christina rolled her eyes. 

"_I'm no Angel, but does that mean that I can't live that life. I'm no Angel,_" they suddenly simultaneously dropped into harmony, "_but does that mean that I can't fly?_" 

Christina pulled on her friend's hand tugging her away from the vampire. When she noticed Angel making his escape she pulled Keisha into his path. Dancing together, they whispered during the instrumental. Keisha looked up, her eyes asking if the girl had lost her natural mind. Christina nodded yes. 

"_I know I'm not around each night --_" Christina began, singing in earnest this time. 

"_-- and I know I always think I'm right_," Keish added. 

"_I can believe that you might look around_." 

Keisha snorted, "For a new Slayer." Christina hit her. 

Before he realized what they were doing the girls had Angel surrounded. Christina threw her arms around the scowling vampire and Keisha her hands on his hips. "Wha- what?" he sputtered. 

"_--but does that mean that I won't try and try?_" they sang and suddenly Angel's body -- with a little help -- was moving in tandem with Christina's. Shocked he didn't resist, instead his mind took him back to a similar scene that played decades ago. 

The girls' voices were replaced by the high one of a tall streaked brunette. Christina's muscled cinnamon arms became long toned pale ones. Keisha's hands disappeared utterly and the brown eyes boring into him were as chocolate as his own. "_--but does that mean that I can't fly?_" The memory of Cordelia Chase sang with more passion than skill. 

"Well, well, what do we have here, an Oreo cookie?" 

Angel's surreal moment was broken. There was a sudden silence as all motion stopped and the disc paused between songs. He could see Christina's eyes wide with shock and prepared himself for the worst. 

The brown-skinned girls erupted in good-natured laughter as quickly as they had descended into surprised silence. Angel couldn't help joining them. "Oh my --" Keish had trouble finishing. She ran over to the elderly Watcher Emeritus. "Uncle Wes, I didn't know you had it in you!" 

Christina followed. "You cracked on us. You really cracked on us. And with such good timing!" Impetuously she hugged the old man. "I'm so proud of you." 

"I gotta tell Grandpa about this." 

Wesley raised his hands in protest. "I'm so . . .glad you're, um, proud of me. I suppose after years of being the butt of everyone else's jokes its time I got in some of my own." 

"And Angel laughed," Keisha reminded Christina. 

She turned to the vampire. "Yay," she crowed running back to her mentor. "Then I can have the day off, right? Please say yes. Please, please." 

Gently Angel pried the girl off his person. "Technically it was Wesley who made me laugh." 

"Yes," the ex-Watcher interjected, "but I would not have made the remark at all if not for your student." 

Eyes full of hope the Slayer-to-be turned to Angel. "Please," she mouthed. He gave her his best I-am-not-amused face. For a long moment they had a staring contest before Angel conceded. "All right, you've got the day off." 

With a shout of joy she threw her arms around Angel gave him a quick kiss. Just as quickly she bounded towards Wesley and gave him a similar kiss. Laughing and eyes sparkling she grabbed her bag from behind the kitchen island. 

"What about breakfast?" Keisha called after her.  
"Ill grab some on the way to the pier," and she was gone through the connector to the hotel proper and the outside world. 

Dragging his hand down his face Angel let out a long sigh. It didn't matter what her birth certificate said, he was convinced that nine times out of ten she was twelve and not seventeen years old. Looking down into his coffee mug Angel realized not only had he not had his morning cup but it was lukewarm. 

"Angel?" 

"Yes, Wesley," he replied suddenly tired. 

"Where was Ms. Singletary going?" 

Angel thought a moment. "I have no clue. Keisha," he called. The girl stuck her head back into the kitchen. "Where was Christi going?" 

She shrugged. "Why should I know?" 

"You were helping her," he pointed out. 

"Yeah so. I did it 'cause it sounded fun an' it was. Later dayz old folks," and she was gone. 

* Now Angel was convinced: twelve, the girl was definitely twelve. 

Three hours later Christina was back. "Hey all. Or just Angel. Where is everyone?" 

"What happened? I didn't expect to see you till tonight." 

The teen sighed, dropping her bag in the foyer. "Yeah well," she sat across from Angel, chin in her upturned palms, "I was supposed to meet my cousin. He's in the Navy. Anyway, his ship's in port for a couple of days and I was thinking we could play tourists around La." 

"La?" 

"LA" 

"Oh." Five months of living literally under her feet and he still didn't quite understand her slang. "So he had other plans in mind?" 

Christina nodded. "I thought he would." 

Angel's brows furrowed, "So why the embarrassing dance lesson?" 

"Well I didn't _know_ what he'd wanna do. Besides," the word stretched wide as her cheshire cat grin, "it was fun." She laughed when the vampire hid behind the Saturday paper. 

"Hey," she said, pulling it down, "we can train if you want." 

Angel pulled the paper from her grasp. "What if I don't want to?" 

She shrugged and stood. "Perfect ten with me. I need to go spring/summer shopping anyway. Oh and that new plas-book I wanted is out . . ." 

"I'll meet you upstairs in fifteen minutes." 

"On the condition that this is still my day off and we stop when I say so. Deal?" 

"Deal." 

They sat on the couch in the living room off the foyer. The Hyperion Arms was dark and quiet save a soft electrical hum. Wrapped together in a quilt their faces were lit by the blue of the flatscreen. Most of their conversation was that of body language. The sarcastic barbs and friendly fighting lost meaning in their pregnant silences. 

She'd introduced him as Torin, her Navy-boy cousin. He was going to stay the night. Angel didn't mind, right? 

Why should he mind? Torin was her cousin. 

"You know, its times like this I miss Mom." 

"Oh?" Torin looked at her. "Why?" 

" 'Cause we're like a tag-team. She asks the basics like 'How have you been' and whatnot while I do things like this," and she pinched his cheek hard. 

He captured the offending hand. "Ow! What'd you do that for?" 

Christina shrugged, deftly taking her hand out of his. "To prove a point." 

"Yeah right, what point?" 

"The one I just proved." 

Rolling his eyes Torin turned back to the flatscreen. "What were we watching again--?" 

Christina shrugged. "Clueless. Why don't you flip?" 

"-- and what are you doing to my hand?" 

"Do you want me to stop?" 

"You can if you want to." 

Angel read between the lines and heard a definitive "no." He was watching them from the check-in desk, hidden by potted plants. They thought he'd gone out and he had been about to when he saw them coiled together on the couch. Angel was surprised to see them there. He'd thought _they'd_ gone out. About to bid them goodnight the cousins began talking and Angel felt trapped. He couldn't explain it but he felt like a Peeping Tom. 

He was too old to feel like a Peeping Tom. 

It seemed Christina heard as he had, continuing to knead her cousin's hand. "And it's a hand massage." 

Silence encompassed them again. It was in their silences, the roaring muteness, that they'd caught Angel in liquid amber. In that emptiness they spoke a language he didn't understand based in a history he didn't know. He was desperate to know. 

Torin pulled away and did something . . .something and his hand reappeared. Christina took it without question or permission. 

"You know," she said quietly, "we're not really related," looking at the back of his head. 

"I know," he answered without turning as if she had said his name was Torin. 

Angel frowned. Where had that come from? He got the sense that, more than what they'd said that night, volumes had been spoken in those two short statements. He sensed that had he known them from birth he would still be lost. He sense that, suddenly, the honey sticky bubble had contracted around them alone. He sensed that for this charmed moment, seduced as his curiosity was, he was free. 

Angel wasted no time making his way into the night. 

"Do you remember the summer I stayed over?" 

"You mean the summer of Torin, Tina, Tanya and Tara?" 

"Yeah." And the bubble had expanded. 

They were up early early the next morning exercising, sparring. Angel met Torin waiting for the private elevator. "It was nice to meet you." 

The men shook hands. "Shipping off?" Angel asked.  
"Yeah, gotta report in no later than twenty-one hundred. Thanks for taking care of my cousin.  
"Her mom'd kill me if I didn't." 

Torin smiled wide. "Yeah, Aunt Kim would. Bye Tina," he called. 

"Bye Torin. Good sailing." Frelling sneaker, always coming unlaced. Why didn't she just get slip-ons? Who cared if she thought they were the ugliest things in "Eep! Don't do that!" 

Angel grinned. "Did I scare you?" 

"Yes you big lug. And stop laughing at my expense." He couldn't help himself and could hardly stop. "Do you want to do this or not? I have to be out by nine." 

"What do you do on Sundays anyway?" Angel felt her right cross travel through his hand down his legs. She was getting stronger. The vibrations shivered through him. Had he been mortal his arms would have felt jellied. 

They danced around the room punching and feinting, dodging and lunging. "Why don't you rent out the suites on my floor?" Christina asked. It felt like hitting a brick wall, sparring with Angel. A softening wall: he was stone become flesh under fists. She liked that. 

Angel didn't answer. 

Knives. Christina loved knives and sihes and swords and daggers. Sharp things, she liked sharp gleaming things. Much as she didn't like close fighting she made exceptions for daggers. Angel always noticed the glitter in her eyes when she pulled one of his swords out of its protective scabbard; always noticed the small sigh of pleasure when she held it well balanced in her hand. Even when he bested her, when the weapon in her hand seemed to have turned against her, it was with love she replaced it. 

_Clang!_ He struck without warning, but the long sword was an extension of Christi's arm. An almost independently mobile limb, it had become part of her sense of self. 

If their sparring had been a dance this was a rehearsal for the Royal Ball. Muscles bunched and corded exposing themselves under smooth skin. Fingers curled in a death grip around sweat slicked hilts as nerves numbed from constant jarring. Pain was a specter shadowing their every move occasionally stepped into. Or punched into. Or kicked into. Or elbowed into. 

The grunts, the sharp cries and gasps for breath faded behind the clash of metal against metal against metal against metal against metal. 

And Christina _was_ the sword. Thoughts translated into action without consciousness. It breathed with her. It blinked with her. Its heartbeat was her own. Only when consciousness came to the fore did she falter so Christina gave herself over to the sword. 

Angel saw that moment, was aware of the shift. He had been waiting for it. The part of him always outside their lessons stood waiting for this to be the time, the fight when it happened. He saw the curtain fall over her eyes and the mask over her face. He saw and stepped back watching from a distance wondering if she could control it or if it would become a blood madness. He did not hope. The part of Angel that hoped was fighting. 

Muscle and bone screamed for the mercy but The Sword was not appeased. She had to appease the Sword. She was The Sword. They/She had to be appeased. 

Somehow Angel was caught in last night's liquid amber. Torin had trailed some while departing. Yet that was not why Angel's view was filled with the ceiling and Christina/The Sword. Angel had not become The Sword. 

They/She stood over him, sword poised high. The curtain and the mask were still there hiding conscious thought. Angel waited. The part of him that stood outside waited. 

They/She plunged the sword deep. 

Angel rolled away feeling the rush of air slide over his skin. Rolling back the sword sang loud a half inch from his ear. 

They/She had won. They/She had been appeased. She who had been the sword was appeased. Christina standing over Angel's body, sheathed the sword. 

"That was fun." She extended her hand. It was a little awkward helping him up, straddled over him as she was. Angel threw her a towel. "You know what the best part was?" 

"What?" 

"When my hair flared out for that spin. Aaa!" Christina'd caught a glimpse of her wrist LCD. "Gotta Jetta. See you later Angel." 

"Later Christi." 

"Hey Angel!" she called from the elevator. The vampire turned. "The second best part was when you looked up at me and thought I was gonna dice ya." Laughing she allowed the elevator to descend. 

Angel picked up his own fallen weapon. Sheathing it, he too had won. She had control. 

"And you're sure you won't come with us Angel?" 

The vampire shook his dark head. "Why don't you invite Keisha?" 

"Let my boss have her much needed holiday." 

"Hey, what about me?" 

"Your Arlene's boss and Jorge's boss and everyone else that works at the Hyperion. Most importantly your Christina's boss." 

"Hi Rachel," Christina said breathlessly, running down the stairs. "Did you convince Angel to come with us to Festival Night?" 

The tall dirty-blonde shook her head. "For some reason he doesn't want to go back to high school the way we do." 

"Tsk, tsk Angel." 

He raised his hands in self-defense, "When I was alive there was no high school." 

"Bad excuse," Rachel said. 

"Yeah," Christi agreed, "bad excuse." 

Inside Angel was delighted for the young women. While Keisha was a good friend and ever ready training partner Rachel was the closest Christina had to a best friend. She'd been the only one to reach the grief stricken girl sitting alone in a desert iciness. Christina's pain had been silent, never making itself known in either anger or tears. It had been a void created by shock and denial and reality combined and destroying all. It had been cold. Rachel had de-necrotized the part of her that had died with Carmen. 

Angel was eternally grateful. 

Soon the two girls were gone. 

"So tell me about Festival," Christina said. 

"My old school, well my brother's school now, has this open fair thing every Halloween. The little kids get all costumed and people dress up." Seeing the worry on her friend's face Rachel quickly added, "But a lot of people don't." 

Christi's camera bounced with her every step. "Who's that," she asked training it on a tall redhead in the distance. 

"Give me the camera. Um, Jon. Wow, he hasn't graduated? Here, take it back." 

_Click_. "He's cute." 

"You just have a thing for redheads." 

"Only aesthetically speaking." 

"Ha ha. Aesthetics my big toe!" 

"I'm _attracted_ to brunettes. I'm fascinated by redheads. Mostly." 

"Rachel rolled her eyes. "Oh no. Justina at ten o'clock." 

"What?!" 

The tall blonde grinned. "Always wanted to say that. She's off to the left. Honestly, I don't know why Keisha lets her stay with the crew. She's a mean snooty little --" 

"Rachel," Christina said in mock surprise, "I didn't know you thought ill of anyone." 

"I'm making an exception. Let's just steer clear. She irks me to no end. It's bad enough I have to fight with her every night." 

And so they did. 

Rachel introduced Christina to old high school friends. Together they taunted her brother and own toys for the baby. Indeed there were many families out, the general populace in all states of dress. Rache's overalls and Christina's wrap skirt covered jeans were as ordinary as the three foot mermaid and the six foot four inch football fairy king. 

"It's getting crowded," Christi said. 

"You want to take a walk toward Old Town?" Rachel suggested. "It should be pretty empty that way." Christi nodded. "Great, come on, this way." 

Christina snapped pictures as they walked through the historic part of town. Dropping in a new mem-chip she handed the camera over to Rache. 

They were nearing the edge of town when she felt it. Gently Christi laid a hand on Rache's arm. "Vampire," she said without turning. 

"On Halloween?" 

"Maybe it wants directions to the Hellmouth?" The girls broke into uproarious laughter. "Wanna act like we're scared run away?" 

Rachel nodded, grinning wolfishly. "On the count of three okay? Okay. One, two, _three!_" 

They sprinted away. Their giggles filled the still night air. Well ahead of the vamp they could still hear its heavy footsteps behind them. It was gaining. Christina looked over at her friend and saw the wicked gleam in her eyes reflected there. 

"We'll trap it in the next park," she called. Rachel nodded. 

The park rushed up at them while the vampire seemed to fall behind. Hearts pounding, adrenaline flowing they ran headlong into the night. Between two squat buildings was a park entrance. They ran in, the vamp following. Without warning Christi crashed into a chain link fence and heard Rachel do the same. Behind the gate they could see the dark shape of trees 

"Come on, there's another park a block down," Rache said breathlessly. "It leads out there." 

"Woo hoo," Christina crowed. "Let's do it!" This was proving to be the best Halloween in years. A little company, some games, family and her first vampire staking were all she needed for a fun night. Christi took the lead, running out the park, Rachel at her heels. 

A cold hand clamped over Rache's mouth. "Don't scream, it's Angel." 

She pried his fingers from her lips. "Angel. We've been running from you?" 

"Yeah. Didn't you hear me calling your names?" 

"No." 

"All right. Um, I'm gonna catch up to Christi. We'll meet you back at Festival." 

She agreed. 

Christina slowed. What had happened to Rachel? She'd been right there. Wait, those were footsteps? Turning to make sure it was her friend Christi caught sight of the flying shadow of her skirt and a body utterly unfeminine. No this was not happening! 

A shriek escaped her. She was floating, free falling. A band of stone fell across Christi's chest. The wall hat cushioned her fall was familiar but not: softened iron. "Angel?" she questioned. 

"Yes?" 

She laughed. The sound filled Angel's dead lungs and reverberated in that place where his heart once beat. Having worked herself down to chuckles and smiles Christina said, "You can let me go now." 

Angel flushed. "Right. Up. Let go. All very good things." Her good humored chuckles encircled him as he helped her stand. Turning she offered him her hand, the laughter sparkling in her eyes. Angel smiled back but it was more a reaction to her than any impulse of his own.. 

"I was ready to make you my first staking." 

Dusting himself off he looked up at her. "Were you?" She nodded. "Then maybe you're ready for your first patrol." 

"In LA?" 

"You can patrol in LA," Angel defended. "It's just . . .different." 

Christina shook her head. "Whatever. Where's Rachel?" He told her she was waiting for them. "Cool. Let's go." Grabbing hold of Angel's hand she pulled him along. 

"Um, Chris, the Festival's back that way." 

"Let's go the long way. I want to see that forest-y thing me and Rachel were gonna stake you in." Facing him quickly she added, "Think of it as the long way back." 

Angel groaned. "But I don't wanna go back the long way," he whined. Christina ignored him dragging Angel toward the tantalizing trees. "And we're going to find our way back how?" 

"Look, the backs of the buildings are right there," she pointed with their joined hands. Somehow it didn't seem strange. It didn't seem like anything special at all. "Actually," Christi amended, "that's too close. Come on," and pulled them further from town. 

If someone asked Angel why he allowed himself to be led like a puppy he wouldn't have been able to answer. A lapdog he was not yet Christina wasn't demanding. The hand in his was insistent but easily resisted. He could almost feel his fingers slipping from hers, could see her disappointed expression brightening almost instantly at the thought of going back to the fair. He could almost hear her whining protest before proclaiming to be joking. Imperceptibly Angel squeezed her hand. 

Christina turned, a question in her eyes. Finding no answers she plunged ahead. "This reminds me of Central Park." 

She turned again, "You've been in Central Park at night?" and asked then rolled her eyes. "Duh Chris, of course he's been in Central Park at night." 

Angel chuckled. Her defiant pace slowed until the two walked abreast, hand in hand not so silently admiring the night. Without conscious thought Christina's free hand went to her neck. 

"Why do you do that?" 

"Do what?" she asked furrowing her brow at the trees ahead. 

"Play with your chain." 

"Oh," she smiled and looked at him. "That. I dunno, just a habit. I do it with all my necklaces. I just . . .wear this one the most." 

"Okay then," and suddenly Angel sat, "why do you wear that one more often than not?" He couldn't explain the mood that had come over him so he didn't try. 

Christina, pulled along, sat beside the vampire with an unladylike plop. "I dunno." She flushed, unused to the sudden attention. "Because I like silver?" Angel reaised an eyebrow. That answer wasn't good enough. "Um, because I like cats," she fingered the seated pewter feline. And . . .his eyes seemed to say. "And I guess mostly 'cause Mom bought it for me years ago. She knows what a cat fiend I am and, well, it was just nice," she finished in a rush not knowing what else to say. 

"Oh." 

"Oh? Oh. Is that all you have to say?" she asked fist raised in mock fury. 

"Uh huh." 

"Okay," she answered placidly, lowering the clenched fingers. 

Angel laughed. 

"You know you should do that more often." 

"What, ask questions about your personal life?" _As if I don't already know the answers_, he thought to himself. 

"Noo, laugh." 

A rejoinder on the tip of his tongue, Angel was struck with a sense of deja-vu. 

Suddenly he felt a tug on their joined hands. Christi was laid back on the grass, legs still folded, staring at the sky. "You know I can only recognize Orion's belt. Ah the benefits of being a city kid." 

He stretched out beside her. "See that one?" Which one? "The really bright one to the left of Orion," he pointed with his free hand trying to help. Yes, she saw it. "Okay now follow the line down about seven stars and --" 

"The Big Dipper," Christi exlaimed proud of herself. "Show me another one Angel? Please?" 

He pointed out the Pleaides and named all seven sisters. He showed her the Scales and the Little Dipper. He showed her which of the very bright stars were not stars at all but planets of their solar system. In the between time as Angel racked his unnaturally long memory for facts from his mortality Christina hummed. She told the few jokes she knew warning him they'd probably fall flat (most did.) She named the trees around them and described the shapes her mind created from the stars. And every fact seemed somehow connected to family or friends. Carlo had told her this joke (only she liked it); her grandmother had that tree in her backyard; this was the song she was supposed to sing with Carmen; she and Rachel did this, sometimes, on the roof of the van. 

"And that one over there, the pinkish star --" 

"Angel, is your LCD correct?" 

"It's off about a minute or so. Why?" 

"Because Rachel is so going to kill us. We've been gone nearly an hour and a half!" 

The couple scrambled to their feet brushing autumnal litter from their clothes. A strong breezed only blew more into their hair. Christina grinned twirling in the briefly swirling leaves. 

"Hey," Angel protested but he was grinning too, "cut that out. Or don't you want to make it back to Festival?" 

"Mmm, I dunno. Okay, okay," she amended catching sight of his no nonsense look, "I wanna go back." 

So without thinking she slipped her hand back into his. "Wait a second," her murmured. She faced him. "You've been treed." Christina gave him a puzzled look. "Someone left you a gift," he answered pulling a small deep red leaf from her hair. He held it up, twirling it between his forefinger and thumb. 

Smiling with laughter in her eyes, she kissed it gently. Shoulders shaking with silent mirth she looked up -- "You know, I'm amazed we can see so many stars this close to town" -- into Angel's eyes and found something foreign there. 

"Angel, wha --?" But the words were muffled, swallowed by another mouth. 

Shock. Her brain, her functioning self had shut down. The commenting self shut up. A new self emerged. 

Close behind shock: fire. In the heart of fire: electricity. Every point of contact with Angel's body forced fire through her pores. The small docile hairs stood on end making her ache. Angel caressed her arm with his free hand. The ache didn't go away. 

Angel snaked his free arm around her waist and pulled her closer. Could he drink her in? Could he take her, bodily, into himself? Licking her soft but unresponsive lips Angel concentrated on entering her warmth. When her mouth opened he knew he'd won. 

The new self took over. Oh she had been there but asleep and denied. The new self tangled her free hand in Angel's hair and crushed his lips to hers. If she could get closer she tried. 

Was he out of his mind? _Yes._ Did he realize what he was doing? _Yes._ Did he know what he was creating in her? _Yes._ Did Angel care? _No._ All that mattered was the taste of her mouth the smooth blunt teeth and her warm wetness. 

He hair had to be standing on end. Electricity and fire had split; the flames sinking localizing, the electricity traveled out dancing along her skin. For some reason her tongue had become fascinated with the hard roof of Angel's mouth. There was a little line there that needed to be explored and every pass was a caress with his tongue. Now the electrical shocks were dancing between her fingertips, Angel's tongue becoming the newest fixation. So in tandem she drew him deeper into her mouth and clenched his hand. 

Angel pulled away sharply. He'd felt the shock too. She'd passed the electricity into his skin so that soul and demon became aware of their complicity with the other. 

Now was the time for the new self to step back and let the other selves do their work. But she would not back down, she would not let go. She didn't know how. 

"Christina," her brain, the functioning self, awoke, "I'm sorry." Guilt was written on the planes of Angel's face, in the lines of his body. "I shouldn't have done that. I . . .I --" 

She caught a glance of his LCD. Two minutes, no, one. She had been reading it wrong. It had only been a minute? It seemed like more. 

" -- shouldn't have kissed you. I'm sorry." Confusion was coming off her in waves. It was Angel's fault. He'd seen this coming and he'd done nothing to divert it. How was he to explain he'd been drawn to Christina before they'd met? How was he to explain avoiding her at the Hyperion whenever not training because this attraction was unfathomable? How was he to explain that htis moment had been utterly wrong, that it had been the strange culmination of a stranger feeling, that at best he had filial feelings towards her, that he just desperately needed to get laid? 

Guilt pushed his hand through the base of Angel's spine and twisted his stomach. "I'm so sorry Chri --" 

"It's okay Angel," she said surprised that her voice was unchanged. 

"No, it's not okay. I shouldn't have kissed you --" a glass shard pierced her, " -- how to make it up --" 

Christina stopped listening. The way he was going on of those glass shards he was tossing about so carelessly would pierce her eye. How would she hide the pain then? 

"Angel, stop. Really it's okay." She'd forgotten how fluid lying was. "I'm okay, you're okay and the world's still spinning." A breezed swirled the leaves at their feet. Awarness flooded Christina. A shiver raced through her body. 

Christina slipped her fingers from his. It felt just as Angel imagined it would. 

"No more 'Sweet sixteen and never been kissed.'" Had she said that aloud? From the way Angel stiffened she had. She had. 

"Hand me the next one please? I like this CD," Christina said a little too loudly. "Um, I think it's called 'Becoming X.'" 

A hard plastic case filled her peripheral vision. She grabbed it blindly. "Keisha your hands are freezing. Which group is this?" 

"Linkin Park," came a deep very non-female voice. 

Christina turned quickly pulling an earbud free. "Angel." 

Things were still strained between them. "Keisha said she'll be right back." 

"Good." 

They stared at each other both wanting to look away but neither able. Christina couldn't stop her eyes from searching his face. What she was looking for Angle didn't know. It lay somewhere between his lips and eyebrows. 

"Thank you," she said softly, "for letting us, uh, go through your stuff. Through your music." 

Angel shrugged. "It's no problem really. You're the ones doing me a favor." He concentrated on her hairline, the edges of her ears venturing no closer than the outside corners of her eyes while she continued to search. 

"I was wondering," Christina said, carefully phrassing her request, "if maybe me and Keisha could, um, keep some of the CD's or . . .or make copies of the ones you really want, maybe . . .?" 

"Sure, sure. Anything you guys want." 

"Thanks," she smiled trepiditiously. "But we'll make sure to ask which ones you want first," she added hastily. 

"Hey Chris." Their gaze turned to the Black girl entering the room. "Thanks Angel. Do you want to stay and help?" 

He looked at Christina. Almost imperceptibly she nodded. She'd found whatever she'd been looking for. "No that's all right. Training later," he reminded them both. Pushing himself up from the floor he stepped carefully over the plastic cases and walked away. 

Rachel slumped to the hard asphalt. Catching the sudden movement out of the corner of her eye Christina turned to her fallen friend. Her knobbly skinned opponont landed an uppercut on her jaw. 

"Chris, pay attention!" 

"No duh Angel!" The Slayer threw the demon to the ground only to have it use her momentum and pull her down with it. Straddling her waist it proceeded to take revenge for the punishment she'd dished out. Between punches deflected and landed Christina watched in horror as another demon stalked her fallen friend. Everyone else was busy with their own red skinned dance partner. _Not again_, she thought to herself. 

Catching one of its fists in her hand, Christi reached behind her head and picked up the small battle axe she'd dropped. With a yell she buried it in the demon's chest. Pushing the foul bleeding body off herself she stod and yanked the blade out. Black-red blood gushed geyser-like from its body covering her. Christina hardly noticed. 

She rushed the demon holding her friend it its deadly embrace. Sensing her -- or perhaps hearing her battle cry -- it turned, dropping Rachel, and grabbed the blade end of the axe. For a moment they played tug-of-war with the axe but while her end was ancient wood the blade was slippery slick with blood. Christi ruthlessly pulled it from the demon's grasp shredding its palms in the process. Howling in pain and anger it charged the Slayer. 

Angel dispatched his opponent and scanned the group. Only a blood covered Christina was still fighting. He watched the irate demon charge his pupil and started to run in her direction -- until its head rolled to a stop at his feet. "So you don't need my help," he concluded. 

"Rachel, Rachel honey, are you okay?" Christina brushed the blonde's hair from her forehead leaving behind a dark red smear. For the first time she noticed the blood that covered her, its chilling weight dragging at her clothes making the skin on her cheeks tingle, the smell filling her nostrils. 

Keisha sprinted to Angel's side. "Is everyone okay?" 

"Yeah," he answered with a nod. 

"Dag man, what were those things anyhow? I'lm never gonna get this smell out of my clothes," she complained. 

"They're . . .they're," Angel looked at the fallen, mangled and dismembered bodies. "I have no clue what they are." 

Keisha grinned. "Me neither. Just wanted to make sure I wasn't the only one." 

A short distance away Christina was helping her best friend to stand. "You're sure you're okay? Perfect ten?" The blonde nodded. "Okay." She couldn't seem to stop staring at her blood covered hands. They were utterly, inexplicably, completely _fascinating_. It was as if Christina had never seen them before. 

Someone, a boy maybe a man, slapped her back. Andrew? Jerry? Jerry. "What? You act like you've never seen blood before." He walked on. Walk on. She should do that. Walk. 

She did it. Christina put one foot in front of the other. The world moved. Her hands did not. She looked down at her now lineless palms slowling to her pink-tinged nails. They were,they were, they were . . . 

"Chris." She bumped into Angel's side. "Chris," he repeated. She clung to his arm off balance and shocked out of her reverie. "Christina are you all right?" the vampire asked with true concern. 

She'd stained his jacket sleeve but he'd hardly notice. There was just so much of it . . . Looking up into his chocolateeyes she lied. 

"Okay. Come on, let's go home." 

Anger course through him as Angel stalked downstairs to his pupil's suite. She'd failed to show up for morning training. It wasn't true anger but one borne of knowing Christina could do better. When she didn't answer he went down to the front desk. Maybe Jorge had seen her. 

"I'm sorry, sir, but I haven't." 

"You know," a guest butted in, "she might be in the entertainment room with some of the children." 

Angel turned tot he woman. "Why's that?" 

"Well I know Hyatt and Johnny, my daughter and son, love to watch their Saturday morning cartoons with her. They always talk about getting up early and getting heir cereal from the kitchen only to find she's already there before them. You know Mrs. Lymen says the same thing, that her kids love Christina and she lo --" 

Angel had stopped listening some time ago. Hopefully talking to Jorge would satisfy her need to gab. Sure enough the flatscreen was bright wtih animated characters but of all the heads visible over the back of the couch he was familiar with none of them. 

"Excuse me," five or six youthful faces turned to him, "but have any of you seen Christina? She's about yea tall and --" 

"Yeah we know who she is," the oldest girl answered. "We haven't seen her all morning." 

"Is she okay?" 

"Johnny, shut up! Don't you know who he is?" 

"It's okay. I take it you're Hyatt?" The girl nodded. "I met your mother just a minute ago. And to answer your question, young man, Christina's fine. Just overslept I'm sure," he finished in a sort of mumble. 

"Well . . .if you see her tell she missed all the good cartoons." 

"I will," he promised and was gone. "Jorge, pass me the master card key will you? Thanks." 

Upstairs he tried knocking again. When there was no answer he let himself in. "Christina," he called softly. Faintly he heard her heart deeper within the rooms. It was the sound he was programmed to hear over all others. 

The suite had everything she could require except a kitchen. As he passed the hall bathroom another sound reached his ears. Angel stopped unsure, at first, of what it was and from whence it came. 

Slowly his mind unraveled the mysterious present. It was muic: song without words. Vocalization. Formless pure emotion. The voice cracked. 

Angel stalked to the back. "Christina," he said more firmly this time. "Christina?" In her room now he could smell as well as hear her. It was a strange scent almost as if she had tried to wash herself away. While the rest of the room -- the entire suite -- gave off Her in varying degrees she was the one soap-scented anomaly. 

The nameless vocalization started again but broke after the first few notes. He was more grateful han he would ever admit. It had spoken directly to his guilt ridden soul and he was afraid that had she continued he would not have been able to go on. 

Quickly scanning the large cluttered room Angel saw her bent head in a corner on the other side of the massive bed. He crossed the space in four long strides. Crouched before her his fears were allayed when she raised her head. "No, no, no," she whispered. Her eyes were blind, unfocused. 

Angel took her chin between his fingers. "Christina," he said sharply. Sight came to her. Shuddering she drew her crossed legs up to her chest. She rubbed her hands together as if cold . . .or washing them. "People are worried about you, Christi." 

"I killed someone Angel," she said as if he hadn't spoken, "did you know that?" 

He looked at her confused. "When? How?" 

"Last night. His blood was on my hands. I could smell it all on my clothes. I smeared it on my face. Oh God, I killed someone and his blood was on my face!" With a sudden strength she batted his hands away and began rubbing away the blood that wasn't there. 

Angel grabbed her hands. "Christina. Christina stop it! You didn't kill _someone_," he stressed, "you killed a demon. A monster." 

"No," she wailed struggling against him. 

"Yes a monster," he morphed into gameface, "like me," and out again. 

"Like me." 

"What are you talking about?" 

"I _killed_ Angel!" She wrenched her hands from his grasp. "What kind of person does that make me?" 

"You saved lives." 

"By taking some." 

"They would have killed you, killed Rachel, killed all of us then attacked the city. You did what any good Slayer would do." 

Christina buried her face in the crossed arms over her knees. "Then I can't be a Slayer." 

Frowning at her he said, "You don't have much choice." 

"You don't understand," she looked up at her vampire mentor with liquid eyes, "I can't do this. I can't. I can't. I can't." 

Grabbing hold of his shoulders Angel shook his pupil. "Yes you can. You have to." 

"Not like this I can't," she wailed. 

Angel pulled her into his arms without resistance. Rocking her back and forth muttered nonsense words. He was struck with a sense of deja-vu. "Death doesn't fit my ideology," she whispered lips brushing his neck. 

It was deja-vu all over again. 

"What?!" 

Keisha excused herself numerously as she pushed past guests. "I said 'Wait I wanna talk to you.'" 

Christina scrunched her nose. "I'm kinda in a rush to work and if I don't leave now I'll miss my ground 'port. Mudo crudoff LA transports," she swore. 

"Why don't you drive?" 

"Drive what? Angel's car? Oh cha, I can so see his face. Can you say brokedown palace?" The Black girl rushed to keep up with her friend. "Look, if you want to talk walk me to the 'port." 

The teens walked into the glaring Californian sun. "So how are you?" 

Christina looked at her friend in disbelief. "I'm fine and you?" She made a face that said 'You nearly made me late for this?!' 

"I mean how are you since the whole demon inspired nervous breakdown thing. We haven't had a real chance to talk since it feels, you know girl?" 

"I've gone on patrol every night since then, a month ago. I'm fine Keish." They crossed the crowded afternoon strreet. "Every demon I've killed has stayed dead. Well except that Mvr . . .Mevar . . .Mvralck demon but that was different." 

Keisha put a hand on her should, "But you never talk about it." 

"Why should I," she replied with a shrug. 

The transport pulled up. As people filed on Keisha had one last question. "Why do you work anyhow? It's not like you have to." 

Christina thought of all the untouched wages that hadn't gone to books and other expenses stored in her bank account. It was more than what she needed for her plan but there were always unexpected surprises. Two people from boarding she answered, "Yeah I do." 

For the fifth time in as many days Angel had attacked his pupil. So far they were even win for win with one draw. Christina was all cleaned up and pissed as a porcupine when she came downstairs for her last class of the day and work. 

Of course she would run into the dark vampire. "You know," he said, "you smell funny." 

"What your vamp nose doesn't like my body wash?" she countered snidely. 

"Are you wearing that today?" he asked indicating her long skirt and high heeled boots. 

"And you care, why?" 

"Aren't you going patrolling after work?" 

"Yeah." 

"Um, heels?" 

"Yeah, so I can fight in heels. Why do you care?" 

What's with you?" 

"What's with me? What's with _you_?! I mean attacking me anywhere and everywhere." Christina shook her head angry without knowing why. "Grief Angel! Just leave me alone." 

He caught up to her further down the stairs. Grabbing her by the arm he forced her to face him. "Blood." 

"What?" 

"That's what I smell, blood. You're PMS'ing." Angel broke the unspoken taboo with a smile of pride. Only after the words had fallen from his lips did he remember the last time this happened with Cordelia. He prepared for the worst. 

_He didn't. He couldn't. He . . .he . . .he . . .How dare he?!_

But it was with cold silent fury that Christina wrenched her arm from the vampire's grasp. Angel was left gazing at her quickly disappearing back. 

And it was with a cold analytical calm she made her decision riding back to the Hyperion with Angel. Pulling her dark brown microfiber pea coat closer she stepped out of the ancient convertible. Looking up at the tall palms she could only glare at them with contempt. There was no winter here only hot and mild. 

It wasn't like they needed her. She'd missed Watch Night for the first time in sixteen years when she'd left with Angel she wouldn't miss another. In her mind she weighed the two responsibilities with the void that had become her heart. Anger transmuted. It was deja vu all over again except this time the anger was directed inward. The void was, once again, taking her away. 

"Are you going to stare at the only two stars in the sky all night or are you coming inside?" Angel asked. 

Besides, LA was really starting to piss her off. 

Angel stepped into the vestibule of the church. It was unlike any other he had seen in over a century. "I didn't think there was such a thing as Black Calvinists," he mumbled to himself. There was an almost complete lack of holy objects. No depictions of God or Jesus Christ on the walls. There was no cross over the pulpit, no angels staring down at him from the ceiling and yet it was obviously -- 

His eyes picked up the small slogans along the walls. On the pulpit lectern was a white dove. The Holy Spirit. Behind the ministers'/priests'/whomevers' seats were two flags: American on the right, Christian (they had a flag?) on the left. All in all, to Angel's Catholic baroque upbringing, very barren and very boring. 

A vampire's dream church -- if not for the vaguely disquieting feeling that intensified as he neared the sanctuary doors. It was if the air were semi-saturated with holy water. 

A week of searching and there she was at her mother's side holding a small child. For a frantic seven days he'd searched all LA county. He'd look through every book of prophecy. His informants wouldn't be able to walk for days and his cash-for-intel account was exhausted. Wesley and Gunn had used, abused and finally given dirty looks to their own sources. Lorne had banned him from Caritas for at least a month. At least. 

There she was, at her mother's side, holding a small child looking happier than she had since her birthday. The child pulled the simple silver cross -- his gift -- from her neck. Gently Christina extricated the chubby fingers. 

An usher opened the door amplifying the laughter of the saints and his discomfort. "Can I help you?" she asked politely and with a smile. "You're welcome to join our Watch Night service." There was genuineness there. 

"No, no, that's okay. I'm, um, here for a friend. S'pose to pick her up later." About to leave he turned back to the woman. "Tell me, when will your service be over?" 

"Oh, I don't know, usually around one or two. D'you want me to tell your friend you stopped by?" He shook his head. "Well then we'd love it if you stayed and you're always w--" something kept her from completing her sentence, "welcome anytime." Suddenly she was looking at him very carefully, warily. 

"I, I should go now," and Angel was back on the breath-stealing cold streets of New York. 

"Happy New Year's Eve," she'd said to his back but he didn't hear. 

When he returned people were milling about talking in groups while children ran and squealed about the sanctuary. For one night the adults were lenient -- "Andrew get off the drums!" -- to a point. 

She'd moved to the back, the fourth to last row, with the child apparently asleep in her arms. "Chrisss!" He drew his fingers from the skin of her arm as if burned. 

"Angel." Christina turned and the child -- baby -- stirred. "What took you so long?" she asked quietly. It was almost lost in the din. "Hey pretty baby, are we up?" The little girl looked at her groggily before settling firmly back in the crook of her shoulder. Christina's smile was tired but love ridden as she placed a gentle kiss on the baby's head. 

"You've had everyone tied in knots looking for you." 

"I figured. I'm sorry." Her gaze strayed from the vampire. "You know, she's not going to remember me. I'll be one of those people who'll ask and she'll just shake her head no." Looking back at him she continued, "I just got tired of waiting for a call from Bishop after my birthday. LA was suddenly . . ." She stared into his eyes, "too small. Does that make any sense?" 

"No, but I understand waiting and feeling trapped." 

She smiled at him. "Thanks." 

The baby watched him from her very comfortable position. "And what's you're name?" She stared at him blankly over the pacifier as if the vampire was hardly worth recognizing at all. 

With a smile Christina answered, "This is Emmy, short for Emerald. Emmy say 'hi.' Come on I know you're awake and you know you can say 'hi.'" She didn't budge. "Em!" 

"S'okay." Angel reached to stroke the bairn's head. He pulled away quickly, burned. 

Christina didn't notice as the child turned away too . . .upset by the stranger. Instead she tried to simultaneously cling her holder while burrowing deeper into he warm body. "Emmy, stop that! You're too big to be climbing Mount Tina, thank you very much." 

While she scolded Angel wondered at what had happened. First there was the disconcerting feeling in the air then being burned not once but twice while touching humans. What was going on? "Chris, what happened tonight?" 

"At Watch Night? Um, I dunno, usual stuff. Traditionally slaves used to wait on New Years Eve for the stroke of twelve sure that was when the Rapture would come to deliver them from slavery. Nowadays Christians have Watch Night to ring in the New Year." 

"Not what is it -- though thank you -- but what happened at _your_ service?" 

"Oh. Um, there were skits, a comedy thing, she smiled remembering, " a couple hundred songs/solos/sing-a-longs, um two dances, a mini message from Pastor, prayer, we sang another song then benedicted." 

"Prayer?" 

"Yeah we always pray in the New Year. I had to stand there around the alter holding a sleeping Em while one of the ministers practically pour oil on me." She rubbed her forehead as if the offending stuff was still there. 

"Oil?" 

"Uh huh, to anoint us?" 

"Oh." 

"Thank God it was a relatively short prayer." She looked up, "And I mean that Sir," she turned back to Angel, "cause Emmy's heavy asleep." 

"Anointed huh?" 

"You've never been anointed with oil before? Oh, that's right, you were Catholic. Um, it's like when you go to mass and before you go in you dip your fingers in the holy water and draw a cross on your forehead. But with oil. And someone does it for you," she added quickly. 

"There are no objects in here." 

"We're not really big on objects but that's just us. Other people are different." 

"But you anoint yourselves. Make yourselves holy." 

Christina laughed and said, "We also call ourselves 'The Saints.' Protestants really are different from Catholics. Get over it Angel," and petted his cheek. He flinched. "Angel?" 

His cell phone went off saving him from explaining. Angel left the sanctuary and the too-holy-to-be-touched saints. Well at least now he understood some things. It _was_ like there was holy water in the air. 

The look in his eyes said it all when he returned. "Opal! Pearl!" Christina called. "Opal! Oh, Anna, honey, get Opal or Pearl please?" The child brought an older girl to them. "Take Emerald for me please? She just woke up so she's a little cranky. Oh, um Pearl this is Angel, Angel this is Pearl one of Em's aunts." The said a perfunctory hello. "Mom, Mommy?" 

"Yes Tina?" 

"Remember I told you Angel would come for me when its time to go?" 

"Uh huh." 

"Well, tada! Angel. I don't know when I'll be back home. I hear Halloween's good. Anywho I'll call as soon as we land in LA and again when we're in Sunnydale." 

"Okay. I love you baby, you know that right?" 

"Mmm, hmm." 

"Be safe my darling." 

"You too Mum." 

Angel took her, clothed, arm, "We should go." Outside, "What was that about landing?" 

"You don't think I _drove_ or rode the _bus_ to New York when I have a perfectly good job, do you?"   
[][1]  
  
[][1]  


   [1]: http://www.gurlpages.com/tinpra/main.html



	6. The Beginning of the End: Meeting Again

Body _Lyrics: "So Fine" (Garbage, _Version 2.0_)._

§§§ 

The Beginning of the End: Meeting Again 

Every sense jumped to red. Already jacked up on adrenaline one more vampire before bedtime would take the edge off nicely. Scanning the tombstones and burial vaults she spotted it. He was inky black against the mottled muted colors of the cemetery. If he was looking for a place to wait out the rising sun she knew a vault with a recent vacancy. The thought made her grin as she stalked him. 

He turned finally sensing her or maybe fixing her position. Hey, she knew that vamp. "Angel?!" 

"Christi." 

"What're you doing in Sunnydale? Is there some catastrophe to be averted? Apocalypse?" She looked at him expectantly only to receive a blank stare in return. "Well I guess this explains why you didn't return my e-mail today." 

"Been on the road." 

"Well, cha." 

She reminded him of Cordelia for a moment. "What, I can't pop by for an unexpected visit?" She raised an expressive eyebrow. "Okay, not really my style," he conceded. 

"Understatement." 

"Things are slow in LA," he said with a shrug, "Wesley and Gunn have forced me into vacation for a couple of weeks. Here I am." 

Christina stared at him incredulously. "You're taking your vacation here? In Sunnyhell?" 

"What?" Angel was shocked. Only one person ever used that word -- 

"Sunnyhell. You know, Sunnydale and the Hellmouth? I mean you could put 'Hellmouth' on the map and it wouldn't make a difference," she babbled on. 

-- Spike. 

"So, you know, freaky as it is its cool you're here." Angel was surprised when she threw her arms about him in a fierce but friendly hug. He returned it awkwardly. Now that the Teacher/Student aspect of their relationship had passed Christina had once again taken him into the confidences of a good friend. It was a confidence Angel had never been quite comfortable with. He'd been less comfortable the year he was without it. 

Cheerily -- well as cheery as one could be in a cemetery -- she put her arm in Angel's and proceeded to lead him out. "So are you staying at Crawford Street?" 

"The Mansion?" She nodded. "Yeah. Um, Chris, could you not mention to anyone that I'm here. Well maybe Bishop," her Watcher, "if you feel you have to. Just keep the news to a minimum if you would. I mean --" 

"Angel I didn't know you could babble," she teased. "It's okay. You don't want Buffy and the gang to know you're here. Gotcha. Are you coming to Willow's Birthday Bash?" She looked up at him then their moving feet. "Guess not. Oh well." 

For a moment, a long moment, there was silence. They stepped out of the necropolis and onto the glittery asphalt. Turning toward Crawford Street she asked, "so do you want to hear about the Scoobies now or later?" 

§§§ 

". . .T is for Trade Wars, U is for Uriel," Christina said in a singsong. "V is for Vampire, W is for World Trade. X is for . . .is for . . .um," she said catching the newly undead's fist, "what starts with X?" 

It looked at her dumbly. "Xylophone?" 

"Haven't you been listening?" She punched him squarely in the nose. "Historical stuff! Just 'cause you're missing Prof. Sharpe's test doesn't mean some of us don't have to study! You suck!" Disgusted she staked him muttering, "Jocko meathead." 

"Not anymore." 

Christina stifled a gasp and rounded on Angel. "Don't do that! And 'Not anymore' what?" 

"Suck." A sudden sneeze on her part emphasized his point. "Exactly." 

"Okay Jokey, what're you doing here? Thought you were on vacation, doesn't that mean nix on the vampire hunting?" 

He opened his mouth, an excuse already planned but shut it suddenly at a loss for words. "I'm bored," the ex-Scourge of Europe whined. 

"So read a book!" 

"It's not that simple." 

"Cha it is." 

"Does anyone you know have visions on a regular basis?" She shook her head. "Great, looks like it'll be a relaxing stay on the Hellmouth," he said clapping his hands together. 

Christina shook her head. "What," Angel asked, "are you gonna ban me from patrol?" 

"Nope, just done for the night." 

"Aw man!" 

Christina giggled at his purposely childish behavior. "If you're trying to win my sympathy you're doing a good job. You know there are still a few hours before dawn and my first class isn't till ten. There's a twenty-four hour coffee place near campus, wanna see how bad the sludge is this time of night? Or day?" 

"Sure." 

"Um, do you have honey?" she asked the waiter. He left to find some. 

Angel made a face. "Hmm, um, coffee and honey. That's um, new and . . .interesting." 

Christina slapped his hand on the scarred formica table. "Ow!" He pulled it back quickly. "I don't drink coffee, mudo crudoff," she rebuked. 

"Must you abuse me so," he said in a way that made her laugh. 

She'd missed this last year, there had been no room for this kind of easy banter in their relationship then. They'd slowly rebuilt their friendship over the past few months through e-mails, phone calls and occasional demon consultations. It had gone better than she'd thought. 

The waiter brought back a small jar of honey. "So," Christina started, "tell me how's it been going avoiding nearly everyone you know in town?" 

Angel gave her a nondescript answer that didn't require much of his attention. Instead he said flippant, unimportant things while she laughed and tried to get a straight answer. He liked watching her laugh. She did it so freely, so infectiously the vampire was able to forget, for a moment, who they were. It wrapped around him so easily . . .it was just nice hearing her laugh. He felt young. 

Angel landed a punishing blow to Christina's midsection. Bent over double he swept her feet out from under her. She was only on her back for a moment before jumping up and forcing him back with several quick punches. Pushing the advantage she repaid Angel in kind, ruining his already tricky backward motion sending him sprawling. And herself with him. 

Using his own ruined momentum Angel pulled her down wit him. Both vampire and slayer rolled his weight settling on her prone body. "Wanna quit?" 

Christina smirked up at him. "Since when did you want to stop early?" she asked vaulting him up and off. On their feet they stared each other down. Some choice bruises would be blooming on various parts of their bodies in a few hours but Christina concentrated on the pain. It left no room for other thought -- emotions. What had started as a stress relieving bout of sparring had turned into a full blown fight with all its intricacies, possibilities, choreography and re-choreography yet without -- or despite -- its intimacies. 

There was no loss of momentum only a reworking of strategy. Christina felt herself lifted of the ground and used her new found height to pummel Angel's chest, shoulders and head. When he didn't release her, only used his vampiric strength to crush the breath from her lungs, she used her last card. 

"Ow!" Angel suddenly cried, dropping her and clutching his forehead. 

"Ow is right," Christina agreed mimicking his motions on the floor. "Matter of fact I'll see your Ow and raise you a Frelling Aahaahaah," she moaned. 

Laughing, Angel helped her off the floor. "And what's that?" 

"Think of a swear that you'd put in front of 'Ow' and that's pretty close. But, frell, was your head always that hard?" 

"According to my da, harder. What about you? You're no feather bed either." Christina laughed. "So you ready to quit?" She nodded. "Feel better?" 

Smiling softly, gratefully, she nodded again. "Thanks Angel. For everything. I mean you let me beat you up and you listened to all that stupid crap about Robert --" 

"Don't say that." 

"But it was!" she pressed. "I mean other than you and one other person no one even knew we've been out -- for months. It was stupid. It was crap. I should have known better." 

"Did you have genuine affection for him?" She nodded. "Love usually don't know better Christi. I know its hard to believe but it does get better. And if it doesn't," he added, "I'm always available to get beat up." 

Tears pricked her eyes while she repressed a wild urge to throw her arms around the tall vampire, bury her face in his neck and cry again. Christina knew if she started (_again_) there would be no end till dawn and so surpressed an equally wild urge to run until she collapsed. 

For the third time she tried closing her eyes but something had disturbed her sleep during the night and her body would know no rest. False dawn was beginning to make its presence known through the blinds. Soon her alarm would go off. Blindly Christi reached for the LCD on her night stand to check the time and forestall its shrill wake-up call. Brushing past some papers she'd left on the little dresser she picked up the LCD and -- 

She hadn't left anything on the night stand except her personal chrono, necklace and. . . and that was it. Messy she might be but there was a method behind it yet. Raising herself on elbows she looked over the papers. Honest to goodness paper no less, not plaslets or plaspaper but wood pulp stuff. Old wood pulp stuff. Gingerly, she picked them up and examined them. 

They were of her! 

There were four, all her, all of them the same pose but each different in the details. In the first and uppermost she was curled into the side of a grand reptilian dragon, its long snout touching the tips of her curled fingers, eyes half lidded. 

Pixies or fairies surrounded her in the second, their light illuminating her skin in odd places. The artist had drawn them looking down at her sleeping. 

A lushly blooming was slipping from her fingers in the third. Her exposed shoulder and the triangle of her stomach were covered in petals as were the bed, pillows and her hair. 

And lastly, for the fourth drawing -- what must have been the first -- the artist had just drawn her. Asleep on her right side with her back to him, he'd drawn her carefully done braid as it came lose with a strand or two caught in the curl of her fingers. He right arm was bent at the elbow, left resting on her stomach. An ankle had escaped the bedding while her left shoulder was peeking from her nightshirt. 

Christina'd never seen something so beautiful and detailed done . . .of her. It had to have been done that night from the window. The artist had even drawn the graduate teddy bear on her chest and what would have been the exposed part of his "Snooza Cum Laude" slogan. Examining them carefully she found the artist's signature in the bottom corner of the last (first she absently corrected herself) sketch. 

"Angel?" The vampire looked up from his book, a safe distance away from the streaming sunlight coming through the doorway, on the couch. "In here," he answered. The door swung closed alleviating the instantaneous combustion problem and allowing him to see his guest. 

Christina ran lightly across the hall. Stepping behind the couch she threw her sun warmed skin around the vampire's neck. "Thank you, thank you, thank you," she babbled. "You were actually listening when I was talking about dragons and whatnot and drawing to pass the time. Didn't think you were gonna draw me though." 

"First, you're welcome," he said, his voice rumbling through her body. "Second, of course I listen to you. You think I don't?" 

She shrugged. "Most people don't. I mean they do but not really." 

Turning his head he said confidentially, "I have always listened to you and I always will." 

"Thank you," she said smiling. "Hey, why'd you draw me? There's a town full of beautiful, if short-lived, people to use your precious paper and ink on." 

"Why would I draw anyone else?" 

"I'm pretty, Angel, but certainly not worthy of ink and paper immortalization." 

He turned in her arms. "Who told you that?" 

She shrugged again. "No one had to. It's just one of those things, you know?" 

"Christina you are more than worthy of 'ink and pen immortalization' as you say. You're beautiful.." 

Her smile called him a fool. "You're sweet for a dead guy. Anyway, thanks again. Gotta go. At this rate I'll be late for my eight o'clock anyway. See you at Bishops tonight." 

As suddenly as she'd come she was gone. 

"Don't touch that," Christina admonished, startling the vampire, "the petals are poisonous to men." 

She had the annoying habit of touching him, caressing him, whenever she passed. He'd held himself apart for so long that he just didn't like . . It was just that tactile people were the antithesis of everything he'd become. They were the embodiment of everything Angelus had been. Unbidden he turned his head as she passed behind him running her hands across his shoulder blades. 

"It's a souvenir from an encounter with a demoness. Bishop doesn't know I have it." 

"When did this happen? I don't remember anything about a demoness with poison flowers." 

Christina shrugged disturbing Angel's silk shirt. "A couple of months after I got here. She was a good friend until I found out how much of a man-hater she really was. I didn't tell anyone about it 'cause at the time it was a little devastating." 

"You okay?" 

"I'm fine. Just can't believe she thought it'd work on me." Tenderly she brushed her fingers over the ostentatious eternally purple and red bloom. She buried her nose in it, inhaling deeply. "Wow she was dumb." 

Bishop looked up from his tomes pushing his glasses up by the bridge. "About time the two of you got here," the Englishman grumped. "What were you two doing, smelling the roses?" 

Sliding into her seat Christina said with a smoothly straight face, "You could say that," and opened a book. 

"Bishop," Angel approached the watcher while his charge was out of the room, "how is Christina managing?" 

"As well as can be expected. Better actually: she's a very careful girl. You know," he said pausing in thought, "a demon broke her arm once. I'd never seen her so angry . . .or so good for that matter." 

"Yeah, she told me about it. I heard the payback was brutal." 

"Yes well," the Watcher took off his glasses, "she really doesn't like hospitals you know." 

"Know what?" Christina returned from the bathroom. 

"How much you dislike hospitals." She made a face and replied, "With a vengeance." 

"Precisely." 

"Um, wow, I haven't done this a long time so, uh, please forgive me for, um, everything." Sympathetic laughter came from the crowd. "Anyway enough about me, this shindig is all about a very special person, Willow. 

"I was, uh, approached by two people who think she's the most important person in the world. Personally I was honored. Willow's been so nice to be despite our, uh, differences of opinion since I moved to Sunnydale. She's sweet and kind and I think everyone will agree that's underneath fuzzy pink sweater exterior is a fire that draws everyone to her. 

"So, Willow, not exactly from me to you but from the two-who-love-you-most to you this song. 

"Oh, one more thing, Lorne, thanks for the prompters. I don't think I'll be needing them." The green skinned demon tipped his proverbial hat to the girl. 

Taking that as his cue Oz strummed the opening cords. Stepping up to the mic: "You Look So Fine." She stepped back until she heard the aging redhead (currently green) play her cue. "_You look so fine . . .I want to . . .break your heart and give you mine. You're taking me over. It's all the same . . .you've got me . . Tethered and chained. I hear your name . .and I'm fallin' over._

_"I'm not like all of the other girls. I can't take it like the other girls. I won't share it like the other girls . . ."_

Suddenly Christina was in the song. She was no longer aware of the liquid notes that poured from her lips or the expressive motions of her body. As with every other time she sang it was as if she had been singing forever and would sing forever. It had become her norm, a bubble of sound she could ignore. 

There out front stood Willow in the arms of Tara. Everywhere she looked couples stood close and swayed to the music. Distinct faces were hard to see but some shapes were more familiar than others. 

Giles and Bishop conversed over drinks at the bar, the Watchers giving her an appreciative nod now and again. Xander and Anya were in the back somewhere -- she knew their dark head anywhere -- probably necking. They were the horniest old couple she knew. She thought it was cute. Gunn and Wesley were avoiding the couple as was a tall brunette. Everyone seemed to know her, maybe one of the guys would be kind enough to make introductions later. 

Closer to the stage Buffy lay back against Riley, his arms around her waist. Theirs was a story nearly as intricate and insider information Buffy's and Angel's. 

Angel? He wasn't supposed to be here. He'd been avoiding the Scoobies for, what, a month now? She could only guess he was here to pay his respects to Willow. No one else knew he was there -- except maybe Oz and the Dingoes playing behind her. 

Everyone seemed to only have eyes for that one person and Christina found herself wishing she could force herself to look anywhere but at the dark vampire. She found herself wishing that he didn't only have eyes for Buffy. But they were the true loves right? They were the ones destined to live in agony until either one died or he Shanshued. Why should it matter to her?" 

Her heart went out to him as he watched in silent pain Riley and Buffy's unselfconscious embrace. He deserved more. Didn't everyone deserve a little grace and mercy? 

But her thoughts were pulled away from the heart aching triangle back to the song. "_You're taking me over . . .over and over. I'm falling over . . .over and over. You're taking me over --"_

Oz picked up the refrain while she sang over him, _"Drown in me one more time. Hide inside me tonight. Do what you want to do. Just pretend happy end. Let me know let it show. Ending with letting go. . ."_ And although she sang the song to Willow she wasn't sure the feelings behind them were for the redhead. 

"_Let's pretend happy end,_" she said drawing the word out as she sang the drive for the last time. The band continued to play behind her and she turned to admire their skill. 

All gathered applauded the thoughtful gift, Willow most of all. She and the blond witch embraced as though it'd soon be illegal. Christina thought she saw her mouth, "That was beautiful," but couldn't be sure. 

She'd moved off into the wings and was trying to figure out how to get off the stage. There would be no more wearing this dress until she had the slit in the back extended. Really it was far to long for such a short opening. Getting up had been so much easier. Next time she would plan these things. 

"Need help?" 

Christina looked up from her shoes and smiled. "Thanks Oz." With a strength belied by his age and slender build he lifted her off the stage and set her on the ground. Giggling she thanked him again. "No one's picked me up in a long time. An here I thought gentlemen were a dying breed." 

"Nah, just reserved for special occasions. I wanted to thank you for doing this for me and Tara." 

"What," she asked with mock obtuseness, "nearly rip my only semi-dressy dress getting off stage? Sure you guys are welcome, it was no problem." 

Ignoring her childishness he went to heart of the matter. "I know you don't approve of us -- the three of us. We realize we go against everything you believe and I wanted you to know we really appreciate you singing for us." 

"Just because I don't 'approve' as you say," she replied with equal seriousness, "doesn't mean I judge you guys. It's not my place to judge. Besides I really like you guys, if I were judging you all the time you wouldn't've even thought to ask." 

Oz nodded in agreement. 

"So we're in goodness?" 

"Absolutely." 

Christina'd forgotten what it was like being on-stage -- and how hard it was being offstage afterward. By the time she disentangled herself from well wishes Angel had gone. Disappointed somewhat she wended her way to Gunn and Wesley's table. The strange woman was sitting -- 

"Well done Ms. Singletary." She smiled at the aged "Rogue Demon Hunter." 

"Yeah, that was tight," Gunn agreed. "Yo, you, um, never met Cordelia have you?" 

The two men looked at each other skeptically having a conversation over the seated brunette's head. If she was reading the nearly-geriatric right Wesley was asking if this were a good idea. Gunn seemed to think it was ow or never. But, Wesley wondered, what of the possible consequences. Consequences, the thin set of the Black man's lips exclaimed, what if they _didn't_ meet? 

"Boys," Cordelia said standing and extending her hand. "By the time they're done we'll both old maids. It's nice to meet you." 

Christina smiled, "You too." The leggy brunette shook her hand limply. It was the kind of handshake she detested because it made her feel as if the person were . . .squeamish about taking her hand. As if she were distasteful -- and she saw it was so in Cordelia's eyes. 

She found herself withdrawing physically and mentally from the older woman. She used every skill she'd acquired as the daughter of the chief of the Politeness Police to extricate herself without being offensive. "I'll see you guys later. It was nice meeting you Cordelia. I have to go chat up Bishop and Wesley," and she was gone before anyone could protest. 

Really she should talk to the Watchers. It was wrong to neglect them so especially when they'd saved her without trying. 

"Hey beautiful," she turned, "great pipes. Why didn't you come down to Caritas while you were in LA? Deprived the good demons of the world your silky tones." 

Christina flushed. "Thank you Lorne." 

"And manners too?" He whistled bringing a smile to her lips. Motioning her to a small round table he ordered them drinks, non alcoholic for her, and went on. "You know," he said in confidential tones, "I could see right through your soul and that's without the mojo from The Powers That Be." She smiled again, a guarded secretive one with soft gray steel doors over her eyes. "Oh don't do that, Honey, I'm not going to pry. I see. So it's going to be like that." 

Lorne sighed dramatically. "Look, it's as obvious as the horns on m head how you feel. I'm not gonna drag it outta you. On the other hand there were some things I saw, that They let me see, that I thought you might want to know." 

"Thanks Lorne," she said taking her drink in hand, prepared to leave, "but you know this is the precise reason I never stepped foot into Caritas." 

"Yes," he drawled, "I heard all about you 'I don't believe in magic!' screaming fit. Also heard the witches couldn't get a spell to work right for at least an hour after you left the Magic Box." Christina shrugged. "Princess, look, I'm not trying to get you to believe anything or want you to say something that makes me no exist or -- horrors of horrors -- sends me back to Pylea. You should hear me out," he said putting a surprisingly smooth hand o hers, "honestly." 

They watched as she left before everyone else, the Seer and the Soul Reader, intent on doing at least one sweep before bedtime. 

"You saw it too, didn't you, when she sang." 

"Yeah," he reluctantly agreed. "But she's such a sweet girl." 

She snorted. "Sure . . ._now_. I tried to warn him." 

It was his turn to snort. "And look where that got you." 

"Oh, so you think you did better warning _her_." 

"_You_ didn't see the look in her eyes. She'll do everything in her power to keep it from happening," he said with an assurance she wanted to share. 

The stood for a little while looking at the long since closed door, each coming to a different conclusion. 

_I hope he's right,_ she thought. 

_She's a little you to be creating some world endage,_ were his. 

"Angel, d'you mind if I crash here? I'm too exhausted to move." 

"Chris," he warned. 

"Okay, how about this: if you can walk me home then I'll go 'cause, honestly, I don't think I can get up." 

"Unless you want to trek through the sewers, that's a no." 

"Why?" 

"Full sunlight." 

"Ooh." She paused, their exchange tiring her. "Okay, okay, how about . . .how about this: I'll call a cab -- I think I can reach my cell phone without using most of my body. You . . . you . . . You," she lost her train of thought yawning. "Um, you can just help me into the car." 

"Nuh uh, still haven't worked out that whole me turning into particulate matter problem." 

Her gaze darkened but since she was turned away from him Angel neither noticed nor cared. " 'Kay, I'll call a cab, you walk me to the door then come back here and call Bish so he can drag me out of the back seat." 

"Bishop's away until tomorrow morning." 

"Weekend conference, right." There was a longer pause as she not only regrouped but caught her exhausted breath. "Oookay, how 'bout I crash here?" 

"Chris." 

"Fine," she said turning to face him, "if you can kick me out I'll go." 

"You know I can't move." 

"Thank you Angel, I'd love to spend the day here." 

He groaned. She felt the bed shift slightly beneath them. "It's not like we're doing anything wrong. Just look at us. Even if we were both naked and not in our sweat drenched clothes it wouldn't matter 'cause we can only see our faces. Perfect ten." 

Much as he didn't want to admit it, she was right. They'd stumbled into the mansion after what seemed a fight with every vampire in Sunnydale. When Christina'd asked to lay down for a moment or two he'd generously offered his bed. Half numb with exhaustion and a recent bag of blood -- he'd forgone niceties in the face of hunger -- he hadn't realized she was still there until he collapsed on the carmine coverlet and nearly bumping heads. Together they'd managed to lose their jackets and toe off their shoes but not much else, sprawled diagonally across the bed. 

"Besides you take up more of the bed than I do." 

It was after 2 p.m. when she left. It was sometime after 12 when she'd sufficiently recovered to turn on her stomach carefully and study the sleeping vampire. She couldn't help but think if only he'd turn his head a little but more they'd be kissing. Bodies at opposite corners of the bed yet still close enough to kiss but that brought back memories of a fatal night nearly a year ago. Reflexively her fingers sought out the pewter cat and bright silver cross around her neck -- cat from her mother years ago, cross from Angel on her last birthday. Somewhere between 12:45 and 1:30 she was recovered enough to skip home if she so wished, instead she drank in the dark vampire. It was so rare that Christina had such free license to simply study a person. It was a her secret hobby that even unnerved her mother and so she'd made covert staring an art. 

Around 1:30 the guilt settled in until, sometime after 2 p.m., she quietly slipped off the deep red coverlet, gathered up her jacket, discarded shoes and nearly forgotten bag and stealthily left the Crawford Street Mansion unwilling to disturb its master. 

Opening his eyes Angel had been happy to indulge her as he'd indulged himself from 9 to 12 visually -- having recovered once the blood made a few circuits through his veins -- and mapping her scent in all its fine nuances and intricacies from 12 to 2. 

"You know, every time we go out patrolling you have a bottle in your hand." 

"That's 'cause it's the only item left over from my late lunches at school." 

"Why not throw it away?" 

"Does it bother you?" 

"Just curious about why you carry a half-empty, or an empty one like tonight, bottle with you all the time. Seems a little, uh, irrelevant." 

Angel sensed her shift the bottle from right to left hand readying herself for a punch. Easily he caught her clenched fist -- 

"Ow!" 

-- but was unprepared when she tapped him hard on the jaw with the bottle. 

"If you had been icktified I would have broken it on you." 

Rubbing his jaw his "Thanks" didn't have much gratitude. 

"What can I say, you taught me well." 

Studying the packet of honey -- no jar this time -- Christina said, "You should come out tomorrow night. It's Halloween. Sanji -- I told you about Sanji right? -- is playing for these kitschy rich people and she got RSVP for anyone who wants to come. It'll be fun and you won't even have to dress up. You can play a minor aristocrat --" 

"Playing what? What playing?" 

She looked up from the honey packet, her eyes a little too wide from surprise. She figured he was tuning her out waiting for his coffee. "Uh, the couple Sanji's playing for are heavy into RPG. You know, role playing games?" 

"I know." 

"Isn't honey weird," she said, getting totally off subject. "People used to know it was a good antiseptic then they forgot then they translate the Ancient Egyptian medical scrolls and learn that putting honey on wounds to keep them from getting infected really _does_ work, unlike hairs of dog and spit of hippo. I think they used to put it in lipstick. Ancient or modern I'm not sure." She squeezed a golden drop onto her finger and smeared it on her lips. Laughing she asked, "Can you imagine? You're more likely to catch small flying insects than men with these lips." 

But it was those lips to which Angel's eyes were riveted. She couldn't know what she was doing, how evocative her action and the thousand free associations his mind made with "honey" and "lips." With visuals. 

Suddenly aware of the sexual tension she'd inadvertently created. Christina licked the gooey stuff with small hesitant strokes. 

Inwardly groaning his mind added darting little pink tongues to the movie clips playing behind his eyes. 

"So uh, if you go you have to go in character." Maybe going back to her plans for tomorrow night would fix things. "We, me and Sanji, figured if you were a, um, minor aristocrat the higher ups would be too full of themselves to bother you and those lower in the pecking order wouldn't, uh, be too, uh, afraid to approach you. And you wouldn't have to do more than raid your wardrobe to dress the part." 

Angel was surprised when his voice came out steadily, normally. "What are you going as?" 

Her grin was mischievous. "Hopefully your bodyguard. If not I'll be free for hire." 

"Why not go as aristocracy yourself?" 

"I've already played a couple of times. They'll all know me as my original character and I was too nervous my first time to try something really new." 

"What would you have been if you weren't a bodyguard-for-hire?" 

Did that mean he was going to come? "Uh, probably a scholar or scribe. Everybody needs a scribe." 

"I see." And he did along with some things he was certain she hadn't wanted him to. 

She stood in the kitchen bent over the sink swearing without swearing in her way. After all, she'd gotten the soap _in_ that spot why couldn't she get it _out_? At this rate she was going to be late and not only did she hate being late but Sanji was bound to be on time if not early. Oy! 

To her surprise she felt strong hands kneading her scalp _right there_. No one had washed her hair with such care in years. She loved having her hair washed. It was the best part of getting her hair professionally done but this was . . .this was different. 

She giggled. 

"Something funny down there?" 

"That tickled. I'm very ticklish." 

"I don't seem to remember you being ticklish during out training." 

"That's because mmm," she moaned closing her eyes against the pleasure before going on, "that's because when you deal with kids you learn how not to react." 

"Ah." 

"This is great," she hissed. 

"You're welcome." 

It was also intimate, his body over heres pressing water-warmed fingers into her hair. Neither saw any reason to mention that. Eyes closed against the simple but delicious pleasure, without think, she pushed back against his hands -- and his body. 

This wasn't exactly what he'd intended and for the life or death of him he couldn't figure out why he'd touched her. He wasn't sure why he'd come to The Mansion at all. She'd asked Angel for its use so she could change for the party with the understanding that he'd be out all night doing . . .something. 

"All done," she said gruffly, releasing her. Releasing them. 

Why couldn't she change at Bishop's? The English and their sense of propriety was not helping him tonight. A book, a book of poetry; he could read, preferably something depressing. Wasn't Sylvia Plath the morbid one? 

"Hey Angel, guess what?" She barreled on, "I had a dream the other night and you were in it. Do you want to hear about it?" she called from one of the many rooms off the main chamber. "Probably not but her goes: 

"So, we were on a bus -- not a transport but one of those buses my gram used to tell me about -- in New York," she dropped "City" in the way of a native, "riding along Central Park. Right so, we were sprawled across this long seat dressed in white. The white only matters," she popped and said in a quieter tone, "the white only matters 'cause it was glowing in the sunlight," before going back to change and yell once more. "That and it was Fall and who wears white after Labor Day?" Angel was struck by the Cordelianess of her statement. "I don't know, maybe it was cream or off-white. 

"So anyway, people were staring at us and when I wondered why you said something sappy and charming like 'They've never seen such a handsome couple before,' or something. I giggled and hit you then retorted that people weren't as enlightened as they think they are. So what if you had your arm around me," she popped out again, "that doesn't mean anything, right? 

"I'm almost done by the way. Just think, soon you'll have your house to yourself," she said with a whimsical look. "Okay, where was I? Right! Lying on you lying on a long seat on a bus during the day in Manhattan with people staring at our supposed strangeness. So then I'm at Mom's house and we decide to go-- You know the rest of my dream has no more you reference except one short pop-up at the mall. So I'm thinkin' you don't wanna hear anymore." 

Angel looked up from the book he wasn't reading more than happy to agree. Instead he was caught off guard. It wasn't she who should be doing the body guarding but have one of her own. 

The high neck of a mandarin collar helped correct her usually less than perfect posture. It was wine Angel noted somewhere between the near invisible frog clasps that followed her collar bone down the left side of her body and a thin gold necklace. Princess seams gave her added shape and made his eyes want to climb back up to . . . He'd learned something of fashion from Darla and more still after turning Druscilla. Between Buffy and Cordelia his education in styles, colors and cuts was complete. All three were well met. 

Christina took a step forward, the better for him to see. There was a gentle, inexplicable tinkle as she walked but the vampire spied only the necklace and a gold band around her arm. It was a two piece number, the skirt riding low on her hips exposing a sliver of cinnamon-chocolate skin beneath the sateen A-line shirt. It was very long, the skirt that is was very long, and slit halfway up her thigh. _Down_, Angel commanded his eyes only to encounter her arched feet encased in darker scarlet shoes. It took him a moment to realize they only consisted of a toe and a sliver of a back, that the only thing keeping them on her feet was a band around her ankle. 

"You like?" She asked. 

He liked. 

The oft-unused doorbell rang. She quickly slipped out of her shoes -- apparently they were unbuckled -- and ran past him in stockinged feet. "That's probably Sanji." The tinkle followed her as did Angel's eyes -- to her bare back covered by a cascade of gold fringe bouncing and dancing as she moved. His brain was momentarily frozen as he tried to figure out just how the top managed to stay put and what it would feel like to have his hand trapped between her warm back and the cool metal. 

Christina ran lightly past him swooping down to pick up her neglected shoes. (Was that the line of her panties?) Sanji followed at a much more dignified pace in equally dark colors of black and wine. (Had they been black?) She sat. Leather against leather creaked loudly. "I thought they --" 

"I'll be out in a nano, Sanji," Christina called interrupting Angel. 

"So," Sanji said with her husky accented voice, "you're not going?" 

Right, he wasn't going. He looked Sanji up and down quickly; a child compared to him and yet she seemed immeasurably more comfortable in whatever situation she found herself than Angel. Something like Oz, he thought. "I am. Going." He felt himself push out of the wing chair. "And I thought they banned leather in California." 

"Vintage. Anything can be outside the law if it is old enough," she said in away that made him think she knew he was a vampire. 

Christina rode with Angel as they followed Sanji making two more pick ups. 

The party was being held in a warehouse but once inside it was easy to forget. Sanji and Christina checked their jacket and wrap -- a long swath of cloth matching her shoes shot through with shimmering black threads -- and parted ways. Christina and Angel entered together. The vampire was struck with the uniqueness of his companion's -- bodyguard he reminded himself. Men and women alike shimmered, shifted and blinded. "I feel underdressed," Angel murmured in Christina's ear. 

With a smile she replied, "Don't worry, you're not. You've just declared yourself of a certain caste." 

"What about you?" 

"My colors mark my house and the band indicates my caste. It also shows that I'm taken," she said mischievously. 

"How's that?" his lips brushed against her ear as he was suddenly jostled by the crowds. They weren't even all the way inside . . . 

Without warning Christina's arm shot out into the crowd. The young man grasped tightly about the wrist struggled and grumbled until he noticed who held him. "I'm sorry Lady, I didn't know-" he stammered. 

"Do you see him, Sir?" It was then that he became aware of Angel and his obviously higher status. He ignored Christina and began directing his apologies to the vampire. "You may go now," she declared seeing his nod. 

The man's obsequious Thank You's were lost as Christina continued her example. "Did you notice his arm band?" 

Angel nodded. "It didn't have an ornate pin holding it together --" 

"I actually don't need it. It shows that I'm 'taken' and he's 'for sale'." 

"-- and his was wider than yours." 

"He's of a lower caste, specifically a slave. You can also tell the slaves because they're dressed in pale colors. Guardians like me wear their House's colors, usually just one or two, usually dark and always with the thin armbands. Soldiers wear whatever colors their state dictates. Mercenaries are harder to spot. They look like Guards but they display their kills like assassins." 

"Assassins?" They were jostled into a corner. 

"Yeah, assassins. They display successful kills with a red bead on a cuff-and-stud earring. The ostentatious displays are from merchant classes. Aristocrats look more like you: muted colors, mostly dark, some colors and more expensive fabrics for the higher ups." 

"Let me guess, Old Money." Christina nodded. Still being led by the crowd a staircase came into view. "Where's Nami and Jessi?" 

"Bathroom. You ready? They're going to announce us." 

"Ready for what? I thought this was supposed to be fun." 

"Exactly, do you think you can handle fun?" 

They were halfway down the stairs and Angel had no answer. Christina laughed. 

Angel was more than happy when Nami dragged the girls on the crowded dance floor. Somehow being surrounded by a gaggle of eighteen to twenty-somethings didn't appeal as much as an Irish coffee. The music was loud and pounding and throbbing in its intensity and Angel couldn't keep his eyes from them. Christina had been reluctant to go onto the floor but she was gyrating along with the rest of them. Rachel turned out to be a surprising dance-aholic. Christina , a girls whose name escaped Angel and Edwin -- one of Sanji's band mates -- made their way to the table. "Do you know what's in this glass?" he asked. 

"Water," Angel answered easily. The many bodies and perfumes and foods blunted his nose but he'd kept an eye, out of habit, on the comings and goings of the table. 

The boy downed the last of the cup before sashaying back on the dance floor. "Is he . . .?" 

Christi laughed. "Oh yeah, Edwin's _so_ gay. So, you gonna come dance or what?" 

His raised eyebrow, usually so effective, refused to dissuade her. "Come on, Angel," she said tugging at his hand. "If you don't get up and boogie with me I'm gonna sit down with you. Know what'll happen then: First Eddy's gonna sit down then Rachel to keep me company then Sanji will come over to talk to Eddy. You know where that leads, don't you?" He did. The picture she was painting was oh-so-vivid. "Before you know it you'll have a table full of people, only five of whom you know, talking and shouting and singing along to the music and you'll only have yourself to blame." 

Angel dragged Christi onto the dance floor. "Wow, that was easier than I thought." 

"Have I ever mentioned I don't know how to dance?" 

She snorted, "This isn't dancing it's synchronized gyrating. Just move with the crowd. Think of it as a great big Follow the Leader." Angel's face said he was not amused. 

They soon found themselves surrounded by a bevy of young people they knew -- or so Angel hoped. Who's the big guy?!" someone shouted over the music. 

"His name's Angel," Edwin shouted back. "Isn't he a hottie?" 

"I think Christina's already claimed him." 

"Rubbin' up on Jessi? Nuh uh." They both laughed. Angel groaned. "He's just playing third wheel." 

"No wonder people think we're all lesbians. Why can't you be more bi- than straight?" 

About there Angel tuned out of the conversation and wended his way through the crowd to their table. "Oops, excuse me," he apologized as eh tripped over a lightly muscled man. 

Christina materialized catching him a death grip, the tip of the ornate pin at his throat. "Chris! What do you think you're doing? Let him go!" 

"He was trying to kill you, Sir." 

"I think you're taking this role--" 

A second older, much more aristocratic man appeared. "Indeed, Patrick was. Points to you, Guardian," he said making notes on a handheld. "You may release him now. What did you say your name was?" 

Patrick, a slave Angel noticed, spoke up, "The lord did not notice my attempt." 

The nameless aristocrat smiled once more. "You have done well for yourself, Lord Aurelius. You have quite the Guardian." 

"That I do. Until we meet again m'lord?" They were gone. Angel grabbed Christina's arm. "What the f--!" Deep breath. "_What_ was that?" 

She shrugged. "Tests, challenges. You passed one and I passed one. RPG, remember?" She slithered from his grasp and back onto the floor. 

From the bar Angel noticed Sanji and her band playing another set. As always Christina was somewhere in his direct line of sight. She'd danced with Edwin and Rachel, sometimes with Keisha but mostly with Nami. Nami who seemed to attract men eve as she pushed them away -- physically. That seemed to make them more determined. He should have been amused. He wasn't. 

And every now and again she danced with Jessi: pulsating, careening, grinding that drew eyes. Slow, sensuous synchronized gyrating that made him half rise from his stool -- they parted. Nami or Edwin took her place and Angel sat as the intensity slid to its normally elevated plateau. 

A slave bearing shoes that resembled Chris-- "You. What are you doing with those shoes?" 

The man quickly dipped his head and averted his eyes. "I was told to stand watch over them until the lady Guardian has want of them." 

"By whom?" 

"My master on behalf of m'lady." 

Angel's eyes flicked from the man to the dance floor and back. "Come closer." His hand shot out to grab the slave in case he disobeyed. There was no resistance. Brushing aside his longish hair Angel found what he was looking for. "You are not a slave," he stated. 

The man looked up and quickly down again. "Not normally, lord." 

"You're Marcel's man." He nodded. "She's dancing with Marcel?" Angel wasn't sure whether he was shocked or angry. "Go," he muttered. 

Angel was behind Marcel before he knew he'd made a decision. "Lord Varsellum, a word with my guardian please." 

The ancient -- by mortal standards -- vampire turned. "Lord Aurelius. I'd heard you were in the area. You have a wonderful little Guardian here. We were just talking weren't we, m'dear." 

"Yes, we were. I believe we had come to the part where you graciously bowed to my lord and left, yes?" There was danger in her eyes. 

Something more base clouded Marcel's. "Indeed. Until tomorrow night." 

Angel had taken his place before she could get so much as a nod of acknowledgment in. "What do you think you're doing? Don't you know who that is?" 

"Dancing like I've been doing all night. And of course I know who that is. His line's only a millennia younger than yours. Hey!" Angel pulled her off the dance floor to their table. With a growl he sent Marcel's servant scurrying. "What was that about?" 

"This isn't some great big role playing game, Christina. Don't think your so hot that you can flirt with danger and not get burned." 

"You know what Angel?" She stood knocking over a glass, "I'm tired of being everyone's Good Girl and Little Miss Goody Two Shoes. Marcel and I have been playing a game of cat and mouse since I stepped foot off the plane. And you know what, sometimes it's fun. For both of us. The only difference was tonight there was no game. It's over. No more hunted, no more hunting for either of us 'cause we've been both. Tomorrow we end it. 

"And you know what else? Yay! Yay! I'm happy. I am happy. 

"Why is it it takes my enemy to make me happy? He's not even my nemesis but he's a challenge. It almost hurts to kill him! Why is that, Angel? Do you know? I mean, this shadow of a relationship I've had with a-- with a _demon_ has been more fulfilling than a lot of the real ones with my friends. More fulfilling than Robert. 

"I am _not_ a 2D drawing! I want kindness, I want gentleness, I want niceness but I want passion too! I want the darkness and the cold fire, I want . . . I want . . ." She was shuddering with the force of her admission and those things she still couldn't give voice to. 

Angel stood. Her hands were clenched at her side to stop their shaking. Her heart was beating like a trip hammer even as her blood pressure rose. "Christina," he put his hands on her shoulders and never finished. 

The moment he touched her it was as if she'd been released. In a moment he found himself crushed to her body, deep in an incendiary kiss. It was all there -- her words given form. Her body was soft and pliant but her fingers and lips and tongue were insistent, demanding, unforgiving. This was the kiss he wouldn't have thought to give or receive from her. Without warning she spun them so that Angel's back was to the floor. They fell into the cushioned couch running against the wall. The was anger and need and vengeance and hunger. This was-- 

As suddenly as it had begun it was over. "Excuse me." Christina deftly slid from under Angel's body and melted into the crowd. 

"Oh God, Keisha, Rachel, tell me I didn't not just do what I think I did." Even under the strobing lights her blush was easy to spot. 

"Oh my God! Christina," Edwin sidled up to them, "I didn't know you had it in you girl. Talk about your perfect tens." Her blush deepened. 

"That was intense," Sanji commented as she passed. 

"Good grief, did everyone see?" One by one her friends nodded. Christina buried her face in Rachel's shoulder, the better to hide from their knowing grins. 

Keisha tapped her on the shoulder. "That was some kiss-back. I didn't know Angel had it in him." 

"I don't think he did either," Christina answered remembering how she had maneuvered him. "He's never going to speak to me again." 

"It can't be that bad." 

Jessi materialized, drink in hand. "You too?" 

Confused she asked, "Me too, what? I was going to ask if you wanted to dance." 

"Absolutely. Perfect ten." 

Angel was stunned. Where had that come from, he wondered touching his lips. Any longer and he would have spontaneously combust. For now he would make due with temporary paralysis. 

When he came out of his torpor she was no where to be seen. For all appearances he seemed calm but his eyes frantically searched through the glitter and shine crown for a scarlet and black shadow. Rachel . . .that boy . . .Keisha . . . The crowd parted. She was in his direct line of sight. 

Christina and Jessi were locked in a fast paced dance. She took the lead, bending and dipping Christina and setting the tempo for their dance. Angel rose, intent this time on joining them. They were, once again, obscured by the shifting crowd. Angel was not deterred. Barely polite, he pushed past slave, merchant, 'crat and more until they were merely a blur of bodies around him; his eyes refused to acknowledge them anymore. 

And they were before him. And Jessi was dipping Christina in a roll as the music changed. And his gryphon was revealed under the long gold fringe cascade, not down her back but in floating in the air, on the small of her back. 

"Angel's behind you, Chris." 

She turned from Jessi's pale arms. "Angel." He pulled her flush against his body. "Angel?" Nimbly he turned her without losing physical contact. 

Angel hadn't lied when he said he couldn't dance. Nor would he have been lying if he said he could. Angelus hated his souled self precisely for that reason and Angel suspected she knew the truth -- that they were the same man, not two sharing one body. She knew because she could accept, could reconcile the monster and the man. 

"You know don't you," he murmured one hand splayed across the other teasing her arm draped up his shoulder and around his neck. "You know," the air needed to speak licked her ear. 

What did she know? 

Their movements were tight and predatory. Angel tilted them backward thrusting her breasts upward and out invitingly. He growled menacingly at all takers. Undulating beneath her they moved seamlessly as if they were one flesh. Slowly his hands traveled down -- from elbow to breast, from stomach to peeking underwear. 

Cool wetness on her chin . . . he had licked her. Suddenly she was facing him. Angel found an intensity equal to his own in her eyes. His left hand traveled the length of her exposed back behind the waterfall of gold. When he began circling the painted gryphon with delicate, delicate fingertips he knew it had stopped being a dance. This was seduction. Gently he wedged a leg between hers and dipped his fingers past the line of her skirt still rocking forward and back with the music. She tensed a moment, this side of Angel utterly unexpected but when he did no more than guide and caress her through the sensuous movements she gave in. Even when his lips descended to the exposed portion of her neck, hungry lips and tongue and teeth; gave into the hardness beneath her and the rhythm he set. Angel dipped her -- dipped them both, one flesh -- once, twice pushing her out and pulling her out, giving her what she hadn't known she needed. 

She was his junkie. 

Angel turned her back to him once more, bending over her, engulfing her with his body, covering and taking her into himself. When they pulled out the song was done. He was gone. 

"Are you hot? I'm hot. Is anyone else about to melt?" 

Nami handed Edwin a glass of ice water -- heavy on the ice. Se fished out a cube and swept it across her forehead. "Is that legal?" 

"If it's not, someone call the cops Eddy, how long's that song?" Jessi asked. 

"Exactly 4 minutes and 46 seconds." 

Both women let out a breathy, Wow. "One of us should go get her off the floor. I don't think 'I Will Survive' is doing much for the helpfulness." 

They leaned against the bar watching a dazed Christina wander off the floor simultaneously sipping heir ice waters. "We really should save her," Nami said. Jessi and Edwin agreed but who was going to save them? 

"Guess that means he's off limits." 

"Oooh yeah. Emphasis on 'oh,' double on 'yeah'." 

Water. She desperately needed water. Christina felt as if he'd sucked her dry. She could still feel the possessive way he'd held her, his hands sliding, gliding over her breast, the way his fingers rested on the gryphon's tail feathers just below her low-slung skirt, his hips, his thigh between her own. Her body still moved with him. 

Maybe she could convince Sanji to drop her off home. She'd get her clothes from the Mansion tomorrow. She'd deal with it all tomorrow. But first, water. 

Her shoes dangled in one hand and a glass of what could have been liquid gold so long as it was cold was outstretched in the other. Christina handed it back to him, empty. "Take me home, Angel." 

She waited for him outside the coat-check shoes and purse in hand. She'd tried wearing them without the strap . . . Angel draped the heavy scarlet-black velvet and satin wrap about her shoulders. Christina followed him up the stairs and out to the waiting car. The cold air stopped her a moment but she was quickly in the care and they were gone. 

The rain started soon after. 

Christina looked out her window into it. Angel watched the road. Their fingertips lay laced on the armrest. 

It was a downpour by the time they came to rest on Crawford Street. 

"All this stuff's vintage you know. To think these shoes have lasted nearly 30 years in perfect condition only to be ruined by rain!" Christina yelled as they made a dash for the door. 

"I'm a lot older than those shoes and I think I've held up pretty well." Angel captured her in his arms under the portico. 

"Indeed you have, sir, but I won't if we stay out here much longer." 

They burst through the doors amidst laughter and wind and rain. 

"Bishop." 

Christina turned. "What are you doing here? Is something wrong? Are the Scoobies okay?" She walked shakily down the steps as the Black Watcher strode quickly from the fire he'd built to meet them. "Is Mom okay?" 

"I'm sorry, Christina." 

"What? What?!" 

"Your grandfather died a few hours ago. Your mother called. I'm so sorry." 

Her face drained of all expression. "Oh." 

"Are you all right?" 

"Yeah. I'm okay. He was really sick, you know?" 

"I know sweetheart, your mother told me." 

"It's just that --" Bishop pulled her into his arms as a sob escaped her. 

Angel came up behind her and put a comforting hand on her back. The skin beneath his hand prickled. 

_("We're not really cold. Because we have no heartbeat we're always about room temperature, kind of like your sheets. I can be warmer but you'll always be warmer."_

_"Oh, I get it. I'll to have to add it to my journal"_) 

"Why don't you change out of your costume and lay down unless you want to go back to Bishop's," he suggested. 

Christina decided to stay. They watched her disappear down a hall. 

"They were very close. Her grandparents moved back to South Carolina a year after Christina and her mother moved out to Manhattan." 

Bishop turned to the vampire, "She lived with them? With her grandparents?" 

"For most of her life. God, this must be awful for her." Angel ran a hand through his hair and remembered he was wet. "Can I get you something, Bishop? Tea? I don't have much in the way of food but it's adequate." 

"Tea would be nice, thank you." Angel put the kettle on to boil. "Should I go check on her?" 

"Don't worry. I'll do it. Forgot to give her a towel anyway." 

Angel knocked on the door. "Chris? Chris can I come in? He knocked again. "Christina are you all right in there?" No answer. "Hope your decent 'cause I'm coming in." Lightening crashed outside as he turned the knob. The lights flickered. Half in and half out the threshold he called to Bishop, "Are you all right out there?" 

"Quite all right. The wiring seems to be hol-" The lights went out. "Bloody hell. Never mind." 

Sure that the Watcher could take care of himself and pointedly ignoring the crash only half covered by thunder and entered the room. "Christi?" Directly across the room the French doors stood open letting in the rain. Nothing Moved in the shadows. 

Angel leapt over the bed in his way heedless of the gold that glittered in the dark or her top next to it. She was shivering in the rain, standing before the winter dead fountain. 

"Bishop! Get a towel, a blanket, anything. She was outside." 

"In the rain?" 

"She's freezing." Christina couldn't stand on her own and her teeth were chattering so hard he couldn't understand what she was trying to say. Or even if she was trying to say something. 

Bishop returned and draped a long thick towel around her shoulders. With his help, Angel maneuvered her in front of the fire. 

"W-w-war, w-w-warm." 

"What are you trying to say, Tina," he used her family nickname. 

The fire crackled and they were quiet except for the one-track murmuring of the Slayer into Angel's skin. She clung to his clothes with cold cramped fingers. 

"So warm. Y-you're so w-w-warm Angel. You're so warm. S-so warm," over and over and over and over and over . . . 

Fin   
[][1]  
  
[][1]  


   [1]: http://www.gurlpages.com/tinpra/main.html



	7. Becoming X

Body

Becoming X 

_Lover,_

_Feeling restless. _

_Gone out for some slayage,_

_be home after you're gone._

_Catch ya tonight. _

_Christina_

_P.S. Only 2 more months_

_before she's out! Yay!_

_XOXO_

He took down the note on the fridge. The baby must have been keeping her up again. He hoped it was the baby. 

Sitting over his coffee alone, Angel thought about last night and his story. Not a story but a tale from his life. She seemed to understand but . . . he had a hard time believing she could believe in him. He'd meant it when he called her his redemption. Angel couldn't imagine what it would be like without her; without her off-center smile; without her ever-mobile face and the strange cat-like sounds she made when she stretched in the morning. How would he live without their child? 

Angel stood up and went to the window. If she were here she'd chastise him for being too moody. "Hey, brood-man, can I have my lover back now," he could hear her behind him, "the one who doesn't stare into his kava," he could almost feel her turning him, pulling him down to her level, pulling him into an almost chaste kiss. 

She'd posted the note next to the calendar. The calendar that marked off the months and days till their child's birth . . . among other things. Somewhere it marked their wedding anniversary. This would be their seventh. Music drifted in from the living room. Must be six-thirty, Angel thought. _Take it like a man he said/Take your medicine . . ._ It was one of his old CD's. Martin Sexton he thought. She'd set the house computer to play music every morning at six-thirty. If she heard it and she still wasn't up and about she'd know that was her last warning. Or at least that's what she told him. It wasn't always effective. Sometimes the system chose something throbbing from her more modern collection that would wake the neighbors -- if they had any -- sometimes it chose from the softer side of his collection. 

Here they were, the pregnancy seven months along, seven years into their marriage, Angel wasn't sure, but it sounded ominious. 

§§§ 

Christina walked through the not-so-fair city of Los Angeles. "And I went and married the most lost angel of them all," she said to herself, smiling. No one looked at her strangely. There weren't very many people out _to_ look at her strangely. Without realizing it she lay a hand on her belly. She was only beginning to show which was wanted it. No need to give the bump-in-the-nights incentive to come after her or her growing family. She giggled at the thought of her "growing" family and her growing belly. Her sense of humor was ever expanding as her body changed without changing. Sometimes she didn't even feel pregnant, she certainly didn't look it. She often felt out of place in her Lamaze classes but they'd discussed it with her doctor. Emily said she was fine so long as she kept a healthy lifestyle. "You do realize gaining weight is part of pregnancy, right?" Of course she had, it just didn't seem to be happening for her. "That's all right actually. The baby's growing properly, I suppose with your lifestyle you're burning off the excess fat as soon as you put it on. I'm sure there are a lot of jealous mothers-to-be in your class. I would have been." 

Christina was the jealous one. Why couldn't she share in something so normal and natural as gaining pregnancy weight? Because her craving for normalcy paled in comparision to her almost animal need to protect her child. Most Slayers didn't live long enough to have children. In truth, only two others had. 

§§§ 

He shook his head and with it shook off the oppressive thought. In the living room the music changed as per her instructions. It chose up to five mini-discs and randomly selected songs from them. Every morning was different and between their music collections -- everything Angel owned had had to be converted to mini-disc and/or MP3 -- the variations seemed endless. _Take me down, 6 underground/the ground beneath your feet._ Sneaker Pimps, one of her selections actually. They'd found it years ago going through his stuff. Angel intended to trash it but she'd fallen in love with the lead singer's strange voice. "She's great, how can you not like her?" She'd wanted it, he gave it to her. That had been a long time ago, before they were married, before they anything more than friends when the most Angel could have said he felt for her was filial protectiveness. 

A different song, Sneaker Pimps still. She would have been happy with the computer's selections. _You're heart is served cold/You're sights are set in perfect stone._ That sounded like him, before when they had been Teacher and Student. _You wore the cross/you made your own._ Maybe she'd asked for the disc because she felt someone sympathised. 

There he was again, brooding. Resolutely he took his coffee into the living room. Setting it on the desk he turned on the computer and called up his wife's music program. He asked for the next selection. It was one of her neo-classical punk fusion bands, easily unemotional, very hard to brood to. 

He was still half asleep, what he needed was a stinging cold shower to wake him up. There was nothing on the Angel Investigations itinerary today, maybe Gunn would like to see him. Maybe he'd heard from Cordelia. Angel marvelled at the ability of two people to forsake a friendship because of pride. He marvelled because he was one of the two and because, at nearly three centuries older, he should know better. 

§§§ 

Nights like this she missed New York City the most. Christina hadn't been home in nearly a decade. Though she kept in constant contact with her mother, it wasn't the same. She'd once vowed never to leave the City so long it utterly changed on her. She'd broken that promise. But she was going home, right after the baby was born. They would all go to visit her mother and stay a while. Only two more months. They'd been clearing their schedules for nearly a year. Christina had been willing to beg her husband -- she still wasn't used to a place that counted rainy and dry as seasons -- to go back. It hadn't taken so much effort. He had a strange affinity, though not as fond, for the City as well. It was the kind of place you either hated or loved. Christina was madly in love. 

She longed for the freedom being a Slayer gave and the beauty of a New York night. She wanted to walk through Central Park at midnight. She wanted to take the foot- and way-paths, the places tourists never saw, the places no sane person visited at night. She craved it like she craved a slice of pineapple loaf with ham. Well, she didn't really crave pineapple loaf and ham, just the loaf -- and maybe some Chunky Monkey. Christina didn't even attempt to resist the banana-walnut-dark chocolate mix. 

But it was New York that was singing to her. It was home. The stars above her weren't the stars she was longing for. Home, her future, they all lay elsewhere. Her lover was behind and her child was before. Somehow Christina had to find the mid-ground. It seemed she had been searching for her place in reality since it all began, from the beginning. She knew she was meant for more and here she was, a Slayer. She knew she wanted something more stable than what her own mother had been able to give. She was married expecting her first child. There was something else, something pivotal coming next -- and she was the pivot. 

§§§ 

Third cup of coffee of the day . . . Angel really hated mornings without her. She always badgered him about his caffeine consumption. In a few hours he was going to be a jittery wreck. 

Angel padded around their apartment barefoot, his steps muffled by deep carpets. The sound changed, becoming gentle slapping; the kitchen, bathrooms and her study were hardwood. He went to her computer, an old fashioned one -- to her -- with a keyboard. Careful not to disturb her methodical mess, he sat in her chair. Her scent was the room, it was in the chair, part of the books and paper that made up her work area. The computer was on, it always was. 

Angel browsed through her various files. Many were school related dating from her first year of college through her grad years. The rest . . . The rest were her stories, her poems, her notes, her dream and vision on paper -- or rather screen. He'd read many of the stories. They dated from her childhood. Angel liked to read them, there was so much of her inner life she kept from him; she kept so few things from him. They were all alive in her stories though. She made no secret of it. To be inside her stories, very often, was to be inside her mind Angel'd discovered. Her poetry was even more internal . . . 

Taking a sip of coffee, Angel chastised himself. Even in his wife's sunny, cheerily disorganized office he managed to brood. Maybe he should just go back to bed. 

But he didn't feel like going back to bed. Scanning the files he found one he hadn't noticed before. The folder was hardly new. Angel tapped the icon on the screen. It opened like a bloom revealing files, documents and assorted notes to herself. One entitled "Names" captured his attention. 

It was exactly what it promised to be, a list of names, baby names to be exact. Angel couldn't and didn't resist the smile tugging at his lips. As much as she referred to their unborn as "she" his wife had been very diplomatic about her choices. Some were certainly more interesting than practical like Keturah, Eshe and Haroon. He wasn't quite sure if Eshe was a girl's or boy's name. She'd included a lot of Irish names, for his sake Angel supposed. Enfys, Moira, Grainna -- Envys, Mira and Grayna -- were all quite traditional. His sister . . . He shed the thought like water. Another folder consisted of the notes to her various works. 

§§§ 

They'd had a fight last week . . . if you could call her obstinate silence a fight. Christina kept too many things inside she knew. Sometimes she wanted to scream to scratch and claw and fight and destroy every breakable thing they owned. She was too used to being the nice-girl, too used to propogating the myths that surrounded her. 

It'd been a stupid fight: her fault. If there had ever been a reason she'd forgotten it. She was scared. It'd been so long since she was scared, really scared. Christina was scared for the baby, their future. 

§§§ 

Somehow Angel got lost in searching. He'd been sorting through his wife's relatively -- and surprisingly -- ordered computer files. He had gone through and around everything in her hardrive from the games to outdated program files to a few minor hacks. Until he hit the firewall. Technically it wasn't a firewall but a password protected area of the hardrive. Now that was unusual. Angel knew all his wife's passwords though he never used them. They had clearly defined what was personal and what was not, yet he'd go online and she'd casually tell him what password to type for her e-mail or her bank account information. The very thought of sneaking in to see who sent her messages, e-mail being one of those restricted areas, made him uncomfortable. His wife's tactic seemed to be "leave it in plain sight and they won't touch." It worked, she'd shamed Angel into keeping out of her personal stuff. 

This was most certainly a surprise, what could she be hiding in there? In the background he heard the player pause before switching minidiscs. Another fusion something-or-other by somebody-or-other. Angel bent the small gray mic to his direction, he'd been working with the touch screen only. 

After thinking a moment, he said "RavenSix," one of her more common passwords. 

"Incorrect Password," a soft masculine voice answered as the words appeared across the screen. 

"Marie," her second-most common password. 

"Incorrect Password." 

"AngelLove," the password he absolutely despised. 

"Incorrect Password." 

"Kimberly," her mother's first name. 

"Incorrect Password." 

"Bishop..." 

§§§ 

Christina stared up at what few stars she could see high over Los Angeles. Right hand over the gentle swell of her belly, left on her schoolbag she contemplated nothing. For the moment she existed in the sensation of laying against the inclined roof over the building's stairs and what her fingers felt. Her fingertips knew her belly better than her Lover. She'd taken to calling him that, her husband. When she found out what the name for love was in his native language -- _grá_ or graw -- she'd stolen a man made word for "beloved" from a book and made the word her own. _Imzadi_ or beloved, but more than beloved. He was as much a part of her as her consciousness to her mind . . . his consciousness was welcome in her mind . . . there were really no words of equivalency and that's why Christina liked it. _Imzadi_, beloved, her beloved; he was her imza and she was his. 

§§§ 

Angel would just have to give up. His efforts were proving not only futile but tiresome. Checking the LCD over the flatscreen Angel swore under his breath. Something else his wife would have gotten on him about, she detested swearing at least in the conventional sense. He actually had an appointment to keep. Well, the note said she'd be home tonight after patrol, at least this meeting would keep him busy. 

§§§ 

Checking her pocket LCD Christina sighed. The sun would rise in a couple of hours. She imagined her husband was sound asleep, probably lying flat on his stomach. He wouldn't be up till six or six-thirty when the house computer chose that morning's music mix. 

Somewhere nearby was a twenty-four hour coffee shop she knew of. In the past month Christina'd become something of a regular and while the employees didn't know her name yet they knew she didn't like coffee. Standing she slid down the side of the rooftop leanto. She had the urge to simply jump off the side of the building to the street below. There was no one to see her and the building wasn't that tall, besides she could do it. In the end she took the fire escape like a good mommy-to-be. 

The coffee shop was closer than she'd thought. As Christina walked towards the glass doors a late-night waitress recognizing her waved. About to wave back she felt the presence of darkness. It was to her right. It was smoking. She walked towards the glowing butt. 

"I'm not really in the mood for slaying tonight," she said in a low calm meter, "how 'bout you do us both a favor and walk away." 

They were both clothed in shadows. It, "he" she was almost certain, could see better she knew. It was taller and it was blonder and it was still smoking. "Are you going to go or are you going to smoke?" 

"Don't you recognize me," he asked. Definitely a he, an English he. 

"Should I," she asked, cocking her head to one side. Christina's eyes were quickly adjusting to this newest level of darkness. Small featured for a man, narrow face, high cheekbones and a long lean body -- whoever had made him knew a predator's body when it saw one. 

"Maybe, maybe not luv." 

Cocky too. Wait, there was something familiar about his manner and his look. "You were the Englishman with the wrong address." 

"Dead on, pet." They were innocuous enough words but dangerously said. Everything between Vampire and Slayer was deadly serious. He'd ruined her plans and she was intrinsic to his. 

"Does this mean you're not going then?" 

"Not bad, for a Slayer."  
She was too focused to be goaded by his taunts. She was too intent on making sure he didn't hear two heartbeats instead of one. She was too centered on making this a quick battle. 

"You know, I've heard about you," he went on, "you went to a different reality and killed a Master. Other than that you're probably the bleedinest boring Slayer in history," she shrugged. "I wonder, can you take on a vampire like me." 

"And what's so special about you?" 

"I, pet, am William the Bloody. Better known to you, I'm sure, as Spike." 

There was still a tenseness in every word passed between them. Spike's flourishing bow didn't alleviate things. 

"If you're expecting me to gasp or go the way of the dodo I'm sorry to disappoint." 

"Haven't heard of me Pet? I'm hurt." 

Smoothing a hair behind her ear she said, "Oh I have. Buffy and the others don't talk about you directly but I've heard of you. I know what you did. I know about Druscilla. I know about Angelus. I know about the chip. I know about the obsession with Buffy and the robot. I know." 

"And you aren't scared." 

"Should I be? Can we get this on, I have places to be and the sun will be up soon." Through the conversation they had been moving into the alley away from prying eyes. "Oh and don't call me 'Pet'." 

"Whatever you say babe." 

"That was worse." She surprised him with an upercut. 

Spike's head snapped back. Gingerly he touched his jaw. "You weren't expecting that, were you," Christina asked. "See, I also know you like to study your opponents. I don't know whether you've been studying me but if you know where I live," she knocked him down with flying spin kick, "it's a good bet." 

Spike growled. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He slid into game face. "Let's play." 

He swept her legs from under her. Christina fell on her back but rolled into a crouch. Impulsively she launched herself at him. Spike used her momentum to send them both into a roll. As they came out of it standing he caught her leg before she could back-kick him in the stomach. Off balance she fell to the hard ground. Christina bridged, kicking him in the jaw using its force to flip into a standing position. As he reeled backwards she hit him in quick succession with first her elbow, fist then the flat of her palm. 

Spike caught her hand, simply aborbing the blow, and took her along for his downward ride. Righting himself he twisted her arm, exposing her ribs to his punches. Christina tried her best to offer her back and sides to him, keeping him away from her stomach. He didn't notice. 

Working out the manuever in her head, she grabbed his hand to stop him from punishing her and viciously kicked the back of his knee. Spike fell hard but with her hand still caught to his chest Christina went with him._ Bad plan_, Christina thought to herself. Now she too was on her knees and even lower than Spike. 

The blond vampire saw his chance. The Slayer saw it too. Another more primal instinct took over. Without thinking she yanked her hand out of his grasp, losing skin in the process, and elbowed Spike in the solar plexus. He bent low gasping in pain. 

Christina was on her feet in moments. She desperately wanted to run and protect the baby but if she did she'd never be free of him. Quickly she pulled a stake from the her coat sleeve. She'd plunge it into his back and then she could have her tea and go to school and patrol and go home to a husband who loved her and wait two months to give birth to their child. 

She raised the stake, ready to christen it for the night. Yet it seemed the dirty and red stained shard of glass protruding from her chest might stop her. Christina looked at it surprised. Spike had moved with a preternatural speed born of a hatred for the man she loved. Instead of her looking down at his prone body he was looking at hers. 

She opened her mouth to speak. Her teeth were pink and it was becoming hard to breath. He'd pierced a lung. "Looks like I've won, luv." Cradling her in his arms, he bent his head to her neck and drank. 

The feeling of canines piercing flesh sent her into shock. 

Surprisingly there was very little blood flowing from the mortal wound he'd given her. He wasn't ready for the explosion of tastes and sensations and pure elemental power that flowed over his tongue. She was unlike any Slayer Spike had the pleasure of feeding upon. There was no will to die in her. Had there been their struggle would have been over that much sooner. He'd seen the change when he nearly had her. There was no calm acceptance but an intense will to live. He could taste it in her blood. She was fighting for consciousness, fighting to stay alive. It made the blood sweeter, more rich with her power. There were snippets of her life: arousal from her first kiss, fear after her first kill, anguish when her friend died. Spike was going to be drunk off her blood for days. And then there was that indefinable taste, something he hadn't had in a long time. Ah, but she was fighting again. He cradled her closer like a lover. Yes, there were memories of her lover, her only lover and Spike's reason for stalking her at all. Adrenaline intoxicated every gulp...but there was the other flavor. He knew it. It tugged on the edge of his frenetic memory. But her heart was slowing, unable to fight him any longer with an inch thick piece of glass tearing it apart. 

And he heard it. The sound was inside his head as clearly as his own consciousness, the Slayer's and her heart. Another heartbeat. That was it. That was the flavor he could not place, the underlying spice in them all. She was pregnant. The Slayer was pregnant. Spike's mind reeled. Not only was he drinking some of the most powerful blood in the underworld but she was carrying his godforsaken sire's child. It made sense now, why she'd been so eager to finish the fight, the primal fire that'd come to her eyes. She'd been protecting the kid. He drank deeper. Yes, as the Slayer's heart slowed the sound of a faster one dominated. It was consuming him. 

He had to stop. The child could live another day without its mother but he had to stop before he killed her. She was begging him to. 

§§§ 

"Angel, I'm so sorry." 

"What about, Bishop?" He'd just come home. The house was dark. "Can it wait a second, I'll be right back." He didn't allow the Englishman to answer but gave the warehouse apartment a cursory check. She wasn't home. Maybe she'd gone out again. 

"All right, I'm back. Now, what were you sorry about Bishop?" 

§§§ 

He slid out of her, humanity in place. "What is it Princess," he asked in an almost reverential whisper. Spike didn't know blood like hers existed. 

"Turn me." Her eyes were closed. 

"What? Why should I?" 

Christina didn't have strength enough to talk but she did. "You want to get back at your sire, right?" 

"Yes." 

"What will destroy him, my broken body or knowing that I am his childe's childe?" She coughed. It hurt. 

"You're only trying to protect the kid." 

"I am," she was too weak to deny it. "But as your childe your will is mine. Think," she coughed again, "think about it. I would be the most powerful fledgeling in creation." 

"What if I decide to kill it." 

"I have to take the chance." She opened her eyes. "Please Spike, turn me." The water that had built behind closed lids ran down the sides of her face, "Please." 

She was dying. If he was going to do something it would have to be now. She was right, there would be no fledgeling more powerful. Ever. What would she be like in a hundred years? His sire would die when he found out and wasn't that the point? 

Spike tore his wrist. "Drink," he said pressing the bloody wound to her mouth. When she didn't respond he yelled at her. He had to reopen the wound. "Drink!" He felt the first gentle pull before she tugged all the blood he'd gorged on back into her body. 

§§§ 

Angel took a quick glance at the LCD: 7:22 p.m. 

"I have just been informed by the Watcher's Council that a new Slayer has been called." 

Angel's face fell. "No, not Mayja. What happened? Was it vampires, a demon . . . do you need me and Chri --" 

"You don't seem to understand," Bishop interrupted, pushing his glances up his nose, "though I suppose I'm not being very clear. Angel, Mayja's fine, a little shaken up by the news but she's all right." 

"Then --"  
"I'm sorry Angel. Christina and the baby are dead." 

§§§ 

Spike sat still for hours. He couldn't remember ever having such patience. He couldn't ever remember feeling so powerful before. Sitting at her side, he listened for the only hearbeat in the room. It was slowly fading. He willed it not to. 

Dru would have been proud. Christina was laid out in simple but beautiful white gown surrounded by the flowers of the dead, chrysanthemums. For the first and last time she truly slept the sleep of the dead. Inside the blood was working on her, taking the corpse he'd created and giving it new life. Unlife. Yet even death couldn't rob her of the gold undertones in her cinnamon skin, it couldn't steal the luminosity of her eyes and it couldn't take her Slayer strength and skill. The blood would take it all and make it more. She looked like a child sleeping there. Soon she would be his childe. 

With a deliberateness he rarely used Spike picked up the remote at his feet. Without looking he pointed behind and turned on the mini disc player. 

Sid Vicious screamed at full volume. 

Christina was dead, what did she care. 

§§§ 

There was a long silence. 

"No." 

"I wish I was there to tell you myself," Bishop went on, "this isn't the sort of news you give over the phone," falling back on English good manners. "But, yes, Angel, its true. A new Slayer would not be called if the old one had not died." 

"No." 

"Really Angel --" 

"I won't believe it until I see a body." He couldn't comprehend it until he saw a body. He couldn't wrap his mind around the concept until he saw a body. He couldn't fall apart until he saw a body. 

"Angel, I'm as upset as you but I understand," Bishop answered quietly. The older man's face seemed to be made of stone. "Would you like me to contact the police, have them file a missing persons --" 

He shook his head in a firm negative. "I don't want the cops involved with this. We don't know how she died or even if she's dead." 

"We have to consider that this may _be_ a matter for the police." 

"I don't want them involved." 

The Watcher Emeritus sighed. He undertood the ex-vampire's position. If he were married to a slayer he wouldn't want police investigated her probable death either, nor would he so readily believe it was something they could handle. "As you wish." He crossed his arms then uncrossed them. Something pricked at his eyes. He scratched a corner only to find his fingertips wet. _Bloody hell._ "If you don't mind I'm going to go now." 

Angel nodded, not really paying attention to the older looking man. 

"Will you be all right? I or Mayja can come down. Would you prefer one of the Scoobies? You should probably call Gunn and Cordelia. Gunn's granddaughter will be quite upset, I imagine." 

The man looked up, "Yes? Oh, right. I'll remember that. And no, you don't have to send anyone." Angel reached for his coat. It lay over the back of a favorite wingchair where he'd left it seemingly hours ago. 

"Where are you going?" 

"To find my wife." 

§§§ 

Cold. First there was cold. It was a smooth cold, silky. What was silky? Whatever it was it was a bad description. There was a word associated with this tactile feeling. It was just on the edge of knowing, of being. 

Satin. First was cold smooth satin under her skin. She was heavy, very heavy as if being pressed from above. 

Limbs. Second were the parts of her body. They felt stiff as if she hadn't used them in a long time. Arms, legs, fingers, toes and torso -- she knew them but didn't know how she knew them. She knew what they did but she couldn't figure out how to use them. There was a kind of coordination and balance that seemed just out of reach. The harder she grasped at it the further it went from her. The frustration was becoming frightening 

Sensation! Nerves and bio-chemicals were waking, rapid firing to her brain. She could feel the hair on her head, the slight breeze sending tingles along the fine hairs of her arms. She was wearing something. Awareness of every part of her body and its immediate surroundings filled her, overwhelmed her senses. _"I'm aware of every cell in my body."_ Who said that? 

Her senses. Her nose awoke first. Scents, smells tastes in the air, some she could identify most she couldn't, flooded her with information. They wanted to tell her about the world outside her closed lids but they all screamed for attention at the same time. 

The noise, the noise! Without conscious thought her hands flew to her ears but she couldn't shut them out. Her new highly sensitive ears heard everthing from the throbbing music to a clock ticking outside to a couple have a conversation down the block to a beat she couldn't get rid of. Pain rode along every nerve. She bucked and convulsed against the satin. 

"Princess," she heard the voice but it was like a roar. The words were loud and distorted. She opened her eyes to her attacker and immediately closed them. Color suffused everything. Combined with the noise, the sensation of her skin and the smells she could not place the new made vampire was in sensory overload. She cried out and her voice made her cringe. 

Spike had witnessed enough crossing, could remember his own, to know what was going on. He never seen a vampire go through it so badly. How much more powerful, sensative, had his blood made her? He laid a hand on her bare shoulder and she scrambled across the room with a speed he almost couldn't track. 

Her eyes were open and wild. If he was going to do it he'd have to do it now while she didn't know what she was. 

Something inside told her to breathe. It was begging her to breathe. She took a gasping breath and cringed again as even more smells and tastes competed for her attention. She had to get out. Too much noise, too many smells, touches, tastes . . . too much. 

He was coming towards her. She didn't know what to do. This body and its abilites were too new. Instinct took over. She stood and ran for the door. 

Spike growled. Somehow she knew he was going for the kid. _Bloody hell!_

There at the end of the hallway was a window. She ran for it -- 

-- and jumped out the eigth floor of a ten-story building. She landed on her back and stood. It was just as bad out here but different. She looked up, he was coming for her. 

She ran. Again instinct lead her. 

§§§ 

Angel pulled on the long black microfiber. He missed the leather though this was easier to clean and lighter and even though it was light it still managed to be warm like how the house stayed warm even in the coldest days which was funny because it was a warehouse and not really meant to keep anything warm or cold or anything but then -- 

Angel stopped before he could send himself spiralling into madness. That didn't keep it from looking rather comforting. 

As a matter of course he checked himself in the mirror. He almost thought he saw her standing in front him fixing his collar or deliberately mussing his hair. With an angry yank Angel opened the elevator door -- 

-- nearly causing Christina to fall inside. Instead she was caught by an invisible barrier. 

"Tina!" He looked her over. She was dressed in a pure white halter dress. Or it had been pure white, now it was dirty and bloodstained. In her hair were flower petals and bits of garbage. Her signature silver necklace glittered in the hall lights. The cat was there but the cross Angel'd given her for her eighteenth birthday was missing. She collapsed in a puddle of torn skirts gasping for air and he forgot about it. 

"Let me in, please Angel let me in," she begged, too tired to stand still reeling from the very world around her. 

He crossed the threshold and picked her up. "They think you're dead, _imzadi_," he said into her neck. "I thought you were dead, I was going to look for your body." Angel could feel sobs of unreleased grief and adrenaline hitching his breath. "Oh God. . . I thought you were gone." 

"We have to go inside Angel," she whispered. "Please, he's after me." 

He backed into their apartment and found he could not bring her with him. "What's going on?" 

"I had to let him," she sobbed, "I had to let him turn me or the baby would have died. Please you have to let me in Angel. He wants to kill the baby because its yours. He wanted to kill me because I'm yours but I convinced him to turn me. I was dying." She watched as her human husband's eyes turned cold. "You can hate me but for the sake of my child," she whispered fiercely, "for _your_ child you have to protect me. If you loved me, if you really want this baby you'll let me in." 

Two stones looked back at her. Christina searched his face. "Please. I'm begging. You can stake me once I've given birth and if the baby's a vampire you can stake it too but you can't let Spike have us. You can't, you can't, you can't," she descended into incoherent tears. 

For a long time he stood there holding the newly made vampiress, the mother of his child. Could he trust her? She couldn't invite another vampire into the house, she had no soul. Angel felt a hand squeeze his heart hard. His favorite childe had created one of his own and now he wanted to destroy what his sire held dear. 

Christina had regained some modicum of self control. "If you're not going to protect me," she said quietly, "then please let me go. If I stay too long he'll find me. Spike knows this place. I have to keep running." 

"You can stay here on these terms and these terms only. They are nonnegotiable." He saw her nod. "First you will live by my rules, that includes no feeding from humans and whatever else I may impose, et cetera. Secondly when the child is born, if it is still human I will keep it. The baby is mine and you have no rights to it. If, if," he almost couldn't say it, "if it's not then I will have to decide what to do." 

"I understand," she said quietly. Every part of her body was singing to her to gorge herself on his blood. Angel still hadn't let her go and the proximity was working on her very limited control. 

"Last and most important if your life at all times is in my hands. If I don't approve it is forfeit. Is that understood?" 

"Yes." 

"Come in." Once again he stepped backward into the apartment, this time bringing her too. For the sake of the baby he set her down gently on her feet. 

She collapsed. 

Angel caught her. "I need to feed. I fed earlier but the running -- I'm starved and scared and there are too many sights and sounds..." She began to cry again unable to express in words all that was happening to her -- unable to understand it herself. 

Angel did. She had vampire eyes on top of Slayer eyes. She had a vampire's sense of smell on top of a Slayer's. She had vampiric hearing on top of Slayer hearing. There was nothing that wasn't causing her some kind of pain and confusion. Normally it lasted a few hours if that long. He couldn't begin to gauge when she'd regain control of her senses. 

Picking her up he deposited Christina in the guest room. It had been her bedroom for the first year of their marriage . . . He had to stop thinking along those lines so instead he left. 

He watched as she gorged herself on bloodbag after bloodbag. The energy she needed was astounding. When she was full he took them away. She was nearly asleep when he walked back in. "Christina?" 

She raised drowsed eyes. "Yes?" 

"My first rule," she visibly perked. "You are not my wife. My wife is dead. If I find you any where near my room or her things without my express permission you will die." 

For a moment Christina only looked at him. Her expression was unreadable. "I understand," she said before closing her eyes and shutting Angel and the rest of the world out. 

Fin   
[][1]  
  
[][1]  


   [1]: http://www.gurlpages.com/tinpra/main.html



	8. Gemini

Body _Lyrics: "My Lover's Gone," "Absolutely Okay" (Dido, No Angel); "Food for Thought" (Dionne Farris, Wild Seed, Wild Flower); "I think I'm paranoid" (Garbage, Version 2.0)._

_Dedicated to the people who have gotten this far and aren't confused, but more so to the people who got this far despite being _utterly_ confused. Thanks for being hang tough_. 

§§§ 

Gemini 

Prologue 

"Angel, I wasn't expecting a call from you so soon." 

"I found her body." 

Bishop's face fell. It was undeniable now. "Are you all right?" Was _he_ all right? His charge was dead. 

"I don't know," Angel answered truthfully. 

"What did you do with the body?" 

"It's in the guest room." 

"Angel! You didn't --" 

He shook his head. "She's been turned Bishop. She's a vampire." 

The Watcher paled visibly. 

~~~ 

She was sitting on the fire escape outside her bedroom again. The wind picked up her long candy-purple hair and blew it into her face. Angel was glad. He didn't have to worry she might catch him starring again. 

The City of Angels was clouded over today. Sunshine didn't stop his -- his what? What were they? Where they still married? Were there rules that governed this kind of thing? _her_ from going out. It hadn't occurred to him to divest her of the bespelled lapis cuff. She certainly hadn't given it up. 

He remembered when she came home with the long purple tresses. As he opened his mouth to yell at her for the sixth time in that short week she spoke. "What Angel? What do you have to say to me? First you tell me that I am not your wife and that I'm not allowed near any of _her_ things or your things or anything at _all_ in this house. But what, I can't change the way I look, I have to be the living memory of . . . of," her lips curled into a sneer of disgust. 

"You say I'm not her but you want me to look like her. Who's in denial Angel? I'm not trying to be anything more than what I am. Deal!" 

She'd stormed off into her room, just off the living room, and slammed the door. Angel was left dumbfounded and ashamed. Every word she'd said was true. He denied her what was rightfully hers for the sake of his own sanity yet would not let her be who and what she was. 

Angel watched her sitting on the fire escape, pale beige throw blanket wrapped about her shoulder. It was for their unborn child he knew, she certainly didn't need it. Once she'd caught him. She merely sighed as if more tired and bored than imaginable and looked away. It was just that he didn't know what to make of her anymore. She wasn't the woman he knew yet he had the same feelings for her. 

That corner of the fire escape had become her favorite place to sit over the past month -- that and sun room. The sun room was their green house. Angel remembered her planting night blooming flowers so it could be theirs. Vivid earth-tone ground growing sunflowers, headily scented hyacinths, trailing honeysuckle and the requisite rose -- peach not red -- were part of her garden. Night blooming jasmine, conundrums and chrysanthemums, which opened late and closed early in the morning, scented his garden. Now it had become hers. 

The first month of her . . . stay had been trying at best. They fought daily. 

_August 15th_

_...I look at her and I see everything I've tried so hard to put behind me. She belongs to another life but she is part of this one. Christina carries my child but does it live? She says that it does but how can I trust her now? There was a time I believed every word from her lips but now. . .How do I know she isn't merely trying to save her skin? I wouldn't put it past her. But why would she run to me, why not learn what power she has as a vampire? That's certainly one lesson I'm not teaching anymore._

_I thought I had found salvation. It seems I've only found another test._

_August 19th_

_I swear she's been sent by Spike to torment me! Every word from her mouth has mocked me, mocked what we had. She tells me how she can't wait to get my bastard out of her. I don't know if I can take another day of this._

"Ah, poor Angel," Christina said, coming close with a seductive grace, "see what you want but can't have." She pouted looking up at him from her lashes. "Is what you see and want me?" she asked bringing her arms about his shoulders. Angel could only stand still against her assault and convince himself he wasn't affected. "What if I let you have me, hmm," her breath -- she breathed for the child -- brushed against his warm skin, "what if, _lover_." That last was whispered with such venom and ill-will that Angel pushed her away from him. 

Christina laughed and it too called him. "Ah, poor Angel." 

_August 20th_

_. . .but it didn't matter, I wanted to pull her close and not let her go. . . _

She came home with armfuls of bags. They were the same brand names he knew she'd always loved. Anger seized him in its fist. "Where did you get those from?" 

Holding one of the bags up she made a show of looking first at it then at him. "Hmm, where does it look like it came from?" 

"I mean," he took two short strides to reach her, "how did you get it?" His voice seethed thinly veiled anger. 

Christina only laughed. "How do you think I got it?" 

Angrily he brushed the bags from her hands. Pulling her up by her collar Angel shook her, "Who did you kill to get these?" he ground out. 

Her human mask fell away. "Who do you think I am?!" she roared and pushed him away. "I killed _no one_ this afternoon," Christina's childish human features returned, "not yet." "I've had no victims since seeking shelter here, it was part of the promise. I won't go back on my word, especially not to you." She stood there full of righteous indignation, fire flashing in her eyes. Still angry herself she grabbed up the spilled bags and stormed into her room. 

Inside Christina didn't know if she wanted to laugh or cry. "I think he hates me Honey. It's how it should be." She could feel its gentle heartbeat in place of her own, a semblance of its thoughts in her head. And though she didn't know its sex -- in life she'd prayed for a girl -- she loved it more than unlife itself. It was the only thing that was still sane. She was a vampire but not; she was a Slayer but not; she was married but not and somewhere along the way she was sure was going to lose her undead mind. 

Fire shot through her veins. Taking a deep breath Christina steeled herself to leave her room, to enter his domain. 

She walked out, ignoring Angel, straight into the kitchen. Opening the fridge she pulled out a blood bag. Though it tasted better warm, she let the mask slide and sank her fangs into the bag. Her very skin crawled with need. It overrode the feeling of the child inside her. She'd gone too long without feeding. Clutching the bag she drank in long heavy draughts. 

Angel walked in on her and, disgusted, turned away. She only laughed around the bag. Throwing it down she reached for another and collapsed. Pain laced through her abdomen. A scream tore, involuntarily, from her throat. Angel raced back into the kitchen. 

Looking down at her doubled over form, he took in her red lips and the near empty blood bag. Christina looked up at him, pleading with her eyes. "You drank too fast," he sneered. With yellow eyes flashing and ridges standing forth, he could find no sympathy and walked away. 

This time she did cry, blood tears licked away on their travels to the floor. 

Christina danced in a slow tight circle. Hips moving in a counter rhythm, Angel watched entranced, as her arms gracefully rose above her head, weaving invisible patterns in the air. He knew this song. It was at the bridge, a strange mix of mood and techno music. 

_My lover's gone _

_his boots no longer by my door._

_He left at dawn_

_and as I slept I felt go._

_My lover's gone, _

_I will not watch the ocean_. 

_My lover's gone,_

_no earthly ship will ever bring _

_him home again....._

_Bring him home again_. 

He stared, entranced as her game face slid on and off, like a masque. She swung away from him, long hair flying about her face. As her arms kept a rhythm of their own, her fingers wove a spell into the air, one that, had she been looking at him, would have trapped Angel forever. 

_September 2nd_

_We had the Fight again. I can't help but succumb every time. As much as I don't believe here, I don't want _not_ to believe her either. What am I supposed to do? If she had the strength to live with me as a monster, shouldn't I be able to do the same? Is this the gift from The Powers That Be?_

_Besides, what if every word she says is right. How will I live with myself knowing the guilt she would suffer for the rest of her unlife? Would I willing put her through the torment I faced for over a thousand years? Am I that selfish?_

_I've look over these writings and I'm not ashamed to say yes, I am. I want my wife. I want to hold her in my arms and find the peace I knew. I would spend the rest of my life trying to find a cure for her, trying to make the guilt bearable. I deserve that. The Powers promised me that. Then why don't I do it? What am I afraid of?_

_I suppose, in the end it all comes down to her words. Am I willing to pull her soul from the arms of her God just so she can lay in mine?_

"You know as well as I do, _Angelus_, that you won't give me back my soul." Christina bit into a deep purple plum exposing the rich pink flesh inside. "Hmm, almost looks human," she commented to herself. 

Angel paced back and forth behind her. Relaxed on the couch, she laid her head back allowing the sticky sweet juice to dribble down her chin, watching him. "And how do you know that?" 

She laughed. Angel could feel the answering pull. "We've had this discussion before Sire --" 

"Don't call me that." 

"It's what you are. Although, in human terms, I guess I'd be your great grand-childe now wouldn't I?" Her voice was low and melodic, sweet as the fruit she needlessly ate. "Never heard of a human Sire before but, then again, whoever heard of a souled vampire?" She turned, resting one arm on the back of the sofa and said, "You've always been mixed up, haven't you Angelus." 

"Don't call me that either," he said exasperated. 

"Oh, and what should I call you? _Liam_? If I were you, and thank God I'm not, that would offend me even more." Angel glared daggers at her. Her answering laughter rang throughout the quite house. "All right, all right, if it makes you feel better -- Angel then. But only while my good mood lasts. 

"But, like I was saying: you wouldn't dare give me my soul back. You don't really want me to feel lower than mudo crudoff do you? Because," she stood in one graceful move, "that's exactly what it would be." She rounded the couch and faced him. "You suffered for the wrong you did for hundreds of years. Do you know what it would be for me? Do you know where my soul is now? Were you a faithful little Catholic Liam?" She reached out and stroked his face, he quickly brushed it away. 

"No, you weren't, were you? But, you know what, your wife believed all that mudo crudoff she learned in church. Do you know where this body's soul is now? It is in Heaven in the bosom of God," smiled cockily at him. 

Angel opened his mouth but she cut him off. "Yes dimwit, it's with God. Was that where your soul was residing before it was stuck back in your wretched body? I'd bet not. Is that where it'll go when you do the world and me a favor and die? I'd still win that bet. But she was better stuff. She was all faith and hope and religious belief. 

"And she was a Slayer. Can you imagine the soul of a Slayer coming back into its new vampire body?" Her voice whisper soft, they stood close, Angel entranced by the quiet fervency of her words. "Are you really that selfish, because then you don't deserve whatever gift it is you think The So-Called Powers have given you." 

"And how," the words stuck in his throat, "why, why should I believe you? There is no Hell." 

Christina smiled patronizingly, "There is a Hell. You were there half a millennium --" 

"Wolfram & Hart, they showed me --" 

"Your faith is weak. Your soul is weak. That woman, Kat, Catherine, whatever her name was, she tried to explain it to you but you didn't want to believe. When this body dies I'm going to Hell. I'm a demon in a Slayer's body, and yet I realize that. But go ahead," her voice caressed him, "take me from my eternal reward. ." 

Chocolate pools met near black depths . . . depths that taunted and teased and shimmered gold. "I. . .don't. . .believe. . .you," Angel ground out. 

He watched as ridges pressed forward and deep brown eyes were become yellow and alien. "YOU DON'T BELIEVE! FINE! See if your precious _souled_ wife doesn't WALK INTO THE SUN. I'll be laughing from inside my cage while you watch her!" A deep growl rumbled from her chest. Christina'd taken a step back from the force of her own anger. "Whatever I frelling saw in you I Don't Know." 

Turning on her heel Christina walked out into the now dark sun room. 

Angel almost didn't recognize her. It had been a long day at the office. They all seemed to be long days lately. This particular case . . .he was set to let Gunn and his granddaughter handle it but that would mean coming home earlier. He couldn't bear to be home anymore. She was there ready to mock him, tease him, seduce him. 

It was equally hard leaving her. With that cuff on she was free to go where she pleased, only the threat of her Sire kept her in line. Angel wasn't sure it would work for very long. 

She lay on the couch arm dangling over the side. He didn't see her until he sneezed. 

"Kezuntite." Angel turned. The kitchen island and the couch were at right angles. He could only see her small bare feet. "You're coming down with something," she stated matter-of-factly. 

"Maybe," he answered in a noncommittal way. _Can't show any weakness_, he thought. 

"You are," she sounded tired. "Have some tea. It'll make you feel better even if it doesn't do anything." 

Angel leaned against the countertop and crossed his arms over chest. "And why do you care?" 

"Does it matter?" she asked, arching up in an almost unnatural position so as to see him over the sofa arm. Her long purple hair was once again black-brown. . .with electric blue streaks. 

Though loath to admit it, it looked good on her. 

When he came out again, Angel dressed for comfort and another long night of sparring with the house inmate, she was gone. Sometimes he wondered why he simply didn't hibernate in his bedroom, sometimes -- only sometimes -- she did. _Because you can't bear to be away from her either_. Passing the kitchen on his way into the living room Angel noticed the boiling tea kettle. She wouldn't admit it, but he knew she'd put it on for him. 

Angel looked from it to the couch where her feet had resided. Accepting the token for what it was, a rare gift, he made himself a cup of tea with honey. Setting it on the low coffee table near the sofa, he took her place on the couch. 

The soft slap of feet on the kitchen's hardware floor signaled her return. 

"Thank you." 

"What for?" she asked, hardly looking at him though she knew, she had to, Angel was there. Neither could see the other without turning. 

"Nothing, nothing." It seemed, maybe, maybe, tonight would be a quiet one. It did until she sat on the carpeted floor beside him. He would ignore her, there had been many nights when it was his only solace. 

It was like dreaming, one Angel used to have in another life about another woman. He had to be asleep, the soft sound of her voice invaded his dream. There was no cutting edge to sibilant sound, no double entendre behind the words and no quiet mockery hidden in musical intonation. Words like that didn't exist in the mouth of the woman he knew, they lived in those of the dream -- one close and out of reach. 

It was a remembered act of devotion, one he would have never countenanced in that other life. 

He would move, she didn't have to sit on the floor. 

No, it was all right. He didn't have to move on her account, she was comfortable where she was. 

But he didn't want her sitting at his feet. There were other chairs . . . 

She didn't want to sit in another chair and she wasn't sitting at his feet, she sat at his shoulder. If he gave her long enough she'd lay down too, if he'd hand her a cushion. 

"My mother, your grandmother, once said that hard things are good for a bad back," she said lowly. "There isn't anything much harder than the floor I guess," she smiled to herself, "except maybe my hardwood floor. 

"My floor," she mused. "The only thing I own now is the floor my feet tread, the air I breath for you . . .you in my belly." Angel couldn't be sure if he was awake or not, if he heard or dreamed. "Your heartbeat is mine," she whispered, "I hear it in my bones." Her voice, though quiet, became excited, "When you get older, love, you have to take an earphone and bite it. I know it sounds silly but when you do you'll hear everything with your teeth. It's funny and fun -- and I won't be there to watch. Or show you or see you or . . . 

"Did you know, Honey, I used to do this a long time ago in another life when I was another person. 

"Do you love me Honey?" She laughed. "That was a stupid question. I'm just talking now. I was silent all day, aren't you proud of me?" Miming a Yorkshire accent, she said, "I been a good gel I 'ave. I swear it Mum. 

"I wonder," she dropped the accent, "what they've told my mother. I haven't seen her in years and years and years. Mmm, to go home again. I'd love to take you to New York, Honey love, where the leaves turn all kind of colors. Beautiful, beautiful colors. I'm sure you'd fall in love with one of them. It's like fire and sun. 

"You know, there's a song called 'baby Love'. I can't remember who it's by. It was cute. _I'm in baby love,_" she sang part of the chorus, "_I'm in baby love again._ Someone gave the MP3 to me. Can't remember who. There was another one too, a song, it was, it was. . .hmm, how'd it go? 

"_Try to lose the negative but all I lose is time._ That's not right. It was, _Faced with a challenge . . . of finding right and wrong . . . in a brand new world that recognizes none,_" she sang softly in the soft light. _ "It's hard for me to believe . . . you know my travels. . . I'm the only one, the only one -- usin' food for thought and thought for food. All I have's my attitude, the hourglass, my ever changin' moods. Usin' food for thought and thought for food, all I have's my attitude, the hourglass, my ever changing moods. _

_"Faced with a challenge . . . of doing all the novel talk . . . Wonderin' how to pay for the things my mouth has bought. Wantin' to say the right things . . .whenever I talk . . .I change the way stood and the way I walked. Usin' food for thought and thought for food, all I have's my attitude, the hourglass, my ever changin' moods. Usin' food for thought and thought food, all I have's my ever changin' moods, the hour glass, my ever changin' attitude._ I don't remember anymore." 

She chuckled lowly, "But I remember . . .other things," she smiled to herself and, unthinking, took Angel's dangling hand in her own. Hers were surprisingly warm. "What you ask . . .or don't ask. . .I remember doing this for friends. They'd put their hands in mine," she pressed his fingertips to her lips, "or I'd take it from them and make them into putty. It's nice being useful to someone sometimes." Her hands kneaded and pressed into Angel's. "I haven't been useful in a long time." 

"You're Mommy's a corpse, Honey," she whispered too low for the mortal beside her to hear. 

Releasing him she rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand. "It's funny, Honey love," she whispered, "but I'm tired. I didn't think vampires got tired," she smiled once again, "but what do I know of vampires?" Rising slowly, carefully, she kneeled over Angel's prone body, picking up his hand again. " 'Alas, poor Yorick. I knew him Horatio.' I knew him a long time ago Honey. I loved him then too." She kissed his hand then, holding it to her unbeating heart, gently pressed her surprisingly warm lips to Angel's -- only to be surprised when strong arms circle her waist and soft lips press firmly against her own; 

("I only want to feel something Bishop." 

("You aren't the person we knew anymore." 

("You think I don't know that? I know that better than anyone else.") 

surprised when those strong arms pull her closer to the rising chest, the beating heart and hot skin; 

("I've never needed to touch someone more in my entire life. No one wants to touch me anymore." 

("What do you want me to say?" 

("You're supposed to be my Watcher. You won't even touch me. What am I supposed to do?" 

("You're a corpse. Learn to live with the disappointment.") 

surprised when the hand she holds looses from her grasp and works itself under her shirt; surprised when the living body beneath her sits up, keeping hold of both her undead one and the kiss they share, and walks her into the place from which she was forbidden only one short month before; 

(You look at the man you've trusted in all aspects of your life and wonder which of you has truly become alien.) 

surprised when she feels the ever familiar bed and its deep sapphire blue bed coverings beneath her back; 

("Well, thank you. Finally someone not afraid to frelling tell me, tell me. . . t-to, to tell me . . ." and you watch yourself, unable to speak the words while looking into this man's face, break connection.) 

unsurprised when she kisses the unforgiving lips back, strips the warm body of its shirt, plunders the mouth looking for a taste she had been sure existed only in some deluded part of her own mind; unsurprised when she moans a forbidden name into the warm wet cavern as her own hands explore a forgotten topography of skin, muscle and bone; unsurprised when the staccato of a heartbeat joins the one she only recently learned to hear; 

(Touching your face you feel your "true" image emerge. It doesn't seem any more real than the "mask" you know so well.) 

surprised when a familiar yet sharp pain moves through her belly; surprised when spiced chocolate pools meet her own near-black ones in wonder and fear and, ultimately, realization; unsurprised as her body is shocked with cool air as the living vacate the dead. 

Angel ran a hand through his mussed hair trying to come to terms with what he'd done. . . what he'd nearly done . . .what he'd wanted to do. Looking out a corner window LA was spread before him, all glitter and false promise. His own haggard reflection stared back at him as did the rumpled bed behind him. Empty, it stared at him accusingly strewn with clothes: his and hers. Yet from the corner of his eye he saw she lay there still, silent and wide eyed as if in shock. 

"Get out," he rasped. 

Looking at the reflection in the mirror her disembodied voice floated to him, "You're upset because I'm not her." 

"Get out," he repeated. 

"You're right. I'm not her," she went on as if he had not spoken. "And it's good too, because she was weak." 

"Shut up." 

"She was weak and small and --" 

"Shut up!" 

" -- and stupid. I'm none of those things. You can't mold me. You can't dominate me. You can't put me in the palm of your hand and crush me. 'Bend me, break me any way you need me, all I want is you.' That was her, not me _and you can't handle me_." 

"Out," he ground out, anger and pain and outrage braided into the word. 

Slowly she rose and grabbed the nearest article of clothing. It was his shirt she nearly put on but, smelling its wrongness he supposed, discarded. With a quiet efficiency -- and blank eyes Angel couldn't see -- she pulled on her shirt, gathered her things and left the room that had been theirs. 

In her own room she dropped the carefully collected things on the floor. She'd pick them up tomorrow, maybe. Grabbing the throw blanket -- it was probably cold outside -- she lifted the window and climbed onto the fire escape. 

"Well, I think I did it Honey. It wasn't how I intended but he hates me now. I'm sure of it. That's a good thing right? I mean, that's what I was trying to do, so it's a good thing. 

"I wish you were here to tell me it's a good thing." She sat in her favorite corner, across from the stairs, feeling the wind blowing her black-brown and blue hair in her face. " '. . .all I have's my attitude, the hourglass, my ever changin mood,' Honey," she quoted. "It's all I have." 

Looking up at the fading stars she said, "I think it's time visit Daddy, Honey love. I've put it off long enough. 

" 'Faced with a challenge,'" she said in a whisper, " 'of knowing right from wrong, having no preference or allegiance to either one . . .'" 

"How the bloody hell did you get in here?!" 

Christina shrugged. "Does it matter, Sire?" 

Spike was up and across the room with her neck in his hands before she could blink. "It does if I decide to snap your pretty neck." Suddenly, his hand was on her gently swelling stomach, "Or I could pull the whelp out of your soddin' belly and have it for my midday snack. Why wait till nightfall when lunch comes gift wrapped?" 

"You could, Sire," Christina managed to croak, "but I thought you'd want to hear me out first." 

"Who says I can't do both?"  
"No one, Sire --" 

"Though I must say I rather enjoy the subservient bit." He released her, Christina crashing to the floor. "So what brings my bleeding wayward childe home?" He lit a cigarette, "Never thought I'd say that," and muttered. 

"A vampiress scorned, Sire, is a very dangerous thing." 

_September 13th_

_We . . .I . . .I don't know. Yeah. I do._

_I wanted her tonight. I could have had her. Hell, it wasn't like she wasn't willing. Everything just seemed so normal. She pulled me in without trying. This was all me tonight. She thought I was asleep. So what stopped me? What kept me from falling into darkness. . .again? The baby. It kicked and it was like a kick in the head. God, what was I doing? What was I thinking? I wasn't thinking. There's a part of me that doesn't care (mostly my cock) a part of me that says she's there and willing and go for it you bloody bastard. There's another part that's utterly disgusted. I'll admit that's not what stops me._

_She _asked_ for this. She begged Spike to turn her, said so with her own lips. I understand her reasons, of course, but somehow I can't bring myself to forgive her. _

_Sometimes, sometimes, its all I can do not to fall down at her feet and beg her forgiveness._

_But that's not what's important right now. Right now I have to figure out a way to deny temptation. You'd think after nearly a thousand years it'd get easier . . ._

"Let me in, Angel." She stood in the doorway, hand on the barrier between them it shimmered. 

"No." 

"Then come out." She stood in the doorway watching as he lay on his stomach, fever flushing his skin. "Let me help you Angel." When he didn't answer she sat in the living room. She was too tired to argue with a sick man. The closer she got to delivery the less well Christina felt too. 

She heard the soft slap of his feet as he left the safety of the bedroom, passed through the kitchen and into the living room. There was a weariness in his step. 

A feeling of solitude enveloped the room. 

She straddled his back as Angel lay on the couch. "Don't worry," she said in a low voice feeling him tense beneath her. "I wouldn't hurt you. I need you." It was true and whether or not he believed her intentions. Leaning low she whispered, "Let me help you." 

He needed this. Angel needed the quiet, the serenity, the darkness, the weakness. He needed to forget who they were, their history and more recent past. He needed to drop the defenses and fall into her touch. 

"_I just want to feel . . .safe in my own skin,_" she sang in a quiet, quiet voice molding the flesh beneath. Angel was only aware of her song in his head and her smooth cool legs against his fevered flesh. "_I just want to feel happy again . . ._ Let me take off your shirt Angel." 

He allowed the intimacy despite the urge to protest. "_. . . I just want to be . . .deep in my own world --_" Cool hands melted skin and reshaped bone. "_-- but I'm so lonely I don't even want to be with myself anymore._" 

He was falling asleep. She was pleased. Moving to Angel's lower back she finished what she knew of the song, "_Ah you're safe. Oh, oh. How's it feel? Oh, oh. And I'm so lonely I don't even want to be with myself anymore,_" and her act of devotion. She worked her way up his back. 

For a moment she hummed the part she didn't know. "_I just want to be . . .safe in my own skin. I just want to feel . . .happy again._" 

Finding the flesh beneath to her liking in shape and warmth she moved off him. Angel awakened as his nap and lullaby were disturbed. 

"You are better now," she said quietly then turned and walked into the kitchen. 

Angel _was_ better. The peace of the extended moment, her deft hands and cooler body had done their work. He sat up looking over the back of the couch in the kitchen. 

"Why?" 

She understood the confusion on his face and in his question but did not answer quickly. 

Standing between the bright kitchen and more serene living room, holding her mug, she said, "I'm lost Angel. I have been a vampire for a little more than a month," she said slowly as if finding the words as she spoke them. "I have no sire, no teacher. I have been human for nearly twenty seven years. My blood tells me one thing, my nature another. I have no soul yet, yet I do things like this. In less than a month I will deliver your child and, whether it's demon or human, my life is yours. 

"I don't know why. I only know I am lost, I'm lost . . ." 

Angel watched his wife, the Slayer turned vampire, with a haunted look walk into her room and close the door. 

"So things are going well?" 

He shrugged. "Best as can be expected." 

Bishop's smile was weak though genuine. "If there's nothing else I'll being signing off. I'll give Willow and Oz and Tara your lo-" 

"There is one thing," Angel interrupted him. 

"Oh?" 

He closed his eyes and took a fortifying deep breath. "It's Christina." 

"The localized uninvite spell didn't work?" Bishop questioned. 

"No, no, works fine. But, she's been very withdrawn lately, depressed I guess. Usually she's all venom or mocking seduction." 

"And now she's not." 

"Right." 

Bishop pushed his glasses up his nose. "Well, it's not completely uncommon for pregnant women to go through a bout of depression. If you'd like I could --" 

"Will this affect the baby?" 

"Well," he answered slowly, "no but --" 

"That's all I need to know. Thanks Bishop. Tell Willow, Tara and Oz hi for me," he said then broke connection before the Englishman could reply. Walking out of his study Angel headed for the kitchen and a snack. There he passed the silent and unnaturally -- for a vampire -- warm body of his wife sitting on a countertop staring at nothing as she had for the past three days. 

"It will work, Sire." 

"For your sake it had better." 

Bishop and Angel had been out for most of the day. "You trust Christina to be by herself?" the ex-Watcher asked. 

The ex-vampire shrugged. "With that cuff on I can't exactly keep her leashed. Not that I haven't tried. Besides it leaves her weakened." 

"Must be difficult though, living with her day in and out. What is it now," he asked pushing up his glasses, "the beginning of a third month? You know, Angel, I could keep her for the duration of the pregnancy." 

"No," Angel said with a shake of his head, "no. She's my responsibility, my obligation --" 

Bishop laid a hand on his shoulder, "No, she's not. Not anymore." The man gave him a grateful look. "So, am I invited up or not?" 

"Sure, if you'd like to." 

"Has her depression gotten any better?" 

He shrugged again. "I don't know and I don't care." 

"Angel," Bishop said warningly, "this isn't like you." 

"Nothing about the past three months has been like anything." Raising the elevator gate the two men stepped into the spacious warehouse apartment. "Christina?" he called. Dropping his jacket onto a chair he turned to Bishop. "Guess she's not here. You want something to drink?" 

They talked. They talked like friends who hadn't seen in each other in years, more freely than Angel could ever remember talking to someone in months. It still felt like years. 

His laughter reverberated around the room, "You're not serious Bishop. That happened while you were at the Watcher's Council? This is _the_ Watcher's Council we're talking about, right?" 

"Yes," was the man answering laugh. "Angel," he said, suddenly sobering, "what have you told Ms. Singletary?" 

A black cloud seemed to fall over the man's features. "I don't know what to tell her. How can I explain what's happened when I feel so guilty myself?" 

"Angel, you shouldn't. It's no more you're fault than mine or even hers." 

"I know that. It's just . . .I took her daughter away from what would have been a normal safe --" 

"You know as well as I do nothing's safe in this world." 

The ex-vampire scowled. "But she didn't have to be a Slayer." 

"She chose to go with you to LA. No one put a weapon to the girl's head." 

There was a long pause as Angel stared into nothing, felt nothing. "I can't help it, Bishop. You have to admit a hundred years of habit is hard to stop," he commented wryly. "I want to tell her everything," he said, eyes half closed, "to tell her how strong her daughter was. I want her to know how much her daughter wanted to see her again, how much she loved her mother, how much . . ." and Angel was at a loss for words. 

"There is no way I can tell Ms. Singletary that her daughter is a vampire. It would break her heart." 

Bishop sighed. "I thought so too. And what of the Watchers? I've refrained from putting this in my diaries --" 

"Thank you." 

"-- but I feel somewhat amiss by doing so." 

"It's all right, Bishop. We'll figure out something . . .I'm sure. Still haven't figured out what the official story's going to be." When the ex-Watcher gave him a confused look Angel couldn't help but laugh. "In 1746 few people noticed when someone went missing. Twenty-forty-six is an entirely different matter. In a couple of months people will start looking for her, asking about her . . .the baby. Any ideas?" 

Bishop smiled grimly, "None." Glancing at his watch he said, "It's getting late." 

"So it is. I guess I just haven't had this, this good a time in a very long time." Bishop gave him a skeptical look. Angel smiled despite himself. "Yes, this is the best evening I've had in a long long time," he offered his hand to the other man to shake, "Thank you." 

Bishop took his hand gratefully, "You're quite welcome. Did Christina ever come in?" 

Angel stood for a moment, thinking. "I don't think so. It's not like her. Course nothing's normal anymore." 

"This is actually the tenth month, isn't it?" 

"Yeah, why?" 

"Angel, she could deliver at any moment. I know this will hardly seem appropriate but in their most primal state, vampires are very animalistic, yes?" 

"Yes. Bishop, where are you--" 

"Angel, it's possible she's giving birth now." 

"What," the former vampire exclaimed. "Where is the mental leap coming from?" 

"You said she's been depressed lately, yes?" Angel nodded. "That she hasn't gone out for days on end, yes?" He nodded again. "Doesn't it seem a little strange to you that all the sudden, after weeks of being a home body she suddenly goes out early and stays out late?" 

"What does that have to do with the nature of vampires?" Angel could feel the pounding of his heart in his throat. His palms were suddenly slick and he couldn't be sure but he thought that was a hitch in his voice. 

"Has Christina been . . .been staying in one place more than any other, hiding out there, um . . . Has she started taking things from her room to one particular place." 

Angel's thought's raced. "She's preferred either her fire escape or --" A sharp scream pierced the relative silence -- 

Bishop turned. "It came from there," he said pointing to a far unused wall of the apartment. 

"No," Angel touched his shoulder, "that's an echo. There's nothing over there but the back stairwell. It's coming from," he stopped. It was deathly silent again. "I think . . ." The two men stood in the quiet for several minutes, listening. They listened and listened and listened and -- 

Another scream pierced the air. "There! It's coming from the sun room. Come on." They ran across the expanse, Angel pushing open the heavy metal door. "Around the corner in the back is a storage room. We never used it much but that's where the echo had to come from." 

They stumbled over potted plants and trailing vines. They neared the closed storage room door. "Angel, wait." 

"What?!" There was another cry, louder this time. 

"I have to warn you, birth is one of the most primal acts of nature and Christina may be very protective. She may not want either of us around and be quite . . .adamant about it." 

"I have to go in there Bishop." 

"I know. Just wanted to warn you." 

Angel pushed open the dark green wood door. A wave of heat assaulted the men bringing with it the smell of sweat and blood. Eyes adjusting to the light, he swept the room spotting Christina on a pile of sheets -- they were his sheets but he didn't question that now -- in a far corner. 

Both men rushed to her but stood a fair distance away. She bit down on a twisted piece of cloth, face clenched in unimaginable pain. A look of relief visibly swept over her as the contraction passed. The moment passed as the scent of the men made its way to through her own overpowering scent and the surrounding haze of pain. A rumbling growl shook her soaked frame as she swung her head back and forth trying to determine which was the hostile. 

Bishop threw Angel a warning look and slowly edged toward the woman. He held his hand out to her approaching her as he would a dangerous animal. She watched him warily, sniffing the air as he neared. Suddenly her demon emerged and she snapped at him. Bishop jumped back, just grazed by her fangs. 

"Well, I'm out." 

"I think you're okay if you just stay back," Angel said without looking at the man. Christina watched the exchange avidly. He was slowly making his way to the mother of his child, slowly, slowly not wanting to frighten her. Without warning another contraction struck. Christina closed her eyes and threw back her head in pain. The ex-vampire rushed to her side, taking her hand. "Push," he whispered fiercely. "Push." 

Bishop moved close to the couple. "Angel, you're almost --" but was cut off by the vampiress' warning growl. She couldn't keep maintain it as another contraction rushed through her. "Angel, Angel," he tried to capture the attention of the distracted man, "you're going to have to deliver the child. Christina won't let me near." 

The contraction passed and both men tensed as Christina sniffed the air again. "Angel?" 

"I'm here, I'm here." He smoothed her sweat darkened hair. "I'm here." 

"I hate, I hate -- aaaaaahhhh!" She clenched his hand in a nearly bone-breaking grip. Her ear-piercing scream was accented by that of an infant's. The men stared at the red, misshapen wiggling thing between the vampiress' legs. Christina, still acting on instinct, scooped the newborn up sniffing the child. 

The world clicked back into focus for Angel. He reached for his child. Christina growled momentarily but, his scent apart of the infant's, allowed him access. Having committed its -- the men still didn't know what sex it was -- scent to memory she proceeded to lick the blood from its body. "Bishop," he murmured, "I need scissors or a knife, something for the umbilical cord." 

The Watcher nodded quietly exiting the small room. Returning he handed the item to Angel. Gently, gently he pried the child from it's mother's arms and cut the umbilical cord. Reaching for a sufficiently clean cloth he wrapped the girl -- it was a girl -- and walked towards Bishop. "Take her inside, clean her up. We'll leave for the hospital as soon as I'm done here." Wordlessly the Watcher took the child out of the room. 

"What?" Christina lunged into a semi-crouched position, "no! Where is he taking my baby?" Her voice was rough with disbelief and the remnant pain of childbirth. 

"He's going to wash her," Angel answered calmly. 

"I want her. I want my baby." Looking up into his hard eyes she did what she'd hoped not to and pleaded. "Angel, please, just for a little while. Please, she's my baby." She needed, Christina _needed_ to hold her child in her arms one more time. Forever. 

"The deal was you'd give her up if she was born human." 

"Please --" 

"That was the deal Christina." 

"You also promised to kill me," she croaked. It was hard to talk, her throat thick with unshed tears. "Please . . ." 

"Be gone by the time we come back or I'll stake you myself," was his final softly delivered ultimatum. When she lunged for him a cross blossomed on her chest. "It's a promise," he said before turning around and leaving. 

Christina stared at the closed green door in wide-eyed disbelief. Slowly Angel's words sank beneath her skin. She closed her eyes willing away the tears the hurt and the pain. It was a good thing she was a vampire because the old her would have wanted to fall through the floor. The old her would have wanted to die. The old her wouldn't have known what to do with the hole that had been formed in her heart. It hadn't been there before, there hadn't been a place for it until she held that tiny pale body in her arms. A new place had been created and now it was empty. The old her would have sat there and cried in the middle of her mess, bloody, exhausted and unable to figure out what she'd do with herself. 

No, this was a different Christina. This Christina knew the value of tooth and claw. There was nothing like a little revenge to make body and demon all better. This Christina picked herself up, wiped the blood from her eyes and walked away. 

Angel's sleep was restless. The baby woke him at all hours of the night and dreams filled his every sleeping moment. There was a murmuring his dream. The baby again. It was a fight to pull himself from that small measure of pe-- 

"I _said_ wake up Angel!" 

His eyes were opened. Yellow filled his vision. "That's better." Pain blossomed in Angel's skull. 

"Ssss!" 

"Looky here Princess, the Poof's awake again." 

"Yummy. Does that mean I can eat him now? Hmm?" Angel's pain filled eyes opened to . . .Druscilla and Spike? But Druscilla was long gone and she didn't have blue hair. "Please, Sire." 

Spike ran a finger down his childe's cheek. "All in good time luv. Can't Daddy have a taste first?" Spike left his returned childe and stalked toward the chained man. "Isn't that right _Sire_ or should I call you that anymore? Sire gets firsts, isn't that so? 

"Look Kitten, the great Angelus bare chested and chained in a rat infested basement by his wife and erstwhile childe. What would Darla say?" 

"I guess," he gasped finding it difficult to breathe, "I guess it' a good thing she's dust." 

Spike turned to Christi. "Look Princess, he's developed a sense of humor too." 

"And what have you developed Spike, a better way to bleach your hair?" 

Christina was suddenly beside him. "He's not very good at it," she said running a cold finger down his jaw. Angel flinched. "Not very nice either." 

"I know. Come away pet." She obeyed. 

"Don't listen to him Tina," Angel said, using her familial pet name. "He'll only turn on you once he has what he wants." 

"Hmm," she put a sarcastically thoughtful finger to her chin, "now whom does that very apt description remind me of?" She turned to Spike, "Daddy? Anyone come to mind?" 

He ran a hand lovingly through her hair. "Reminds me of that bad man over there Kitten. What say we make him pay?" 

Christina jumped for joy, clapping her hands like a child. "Oh could we, could we really?" Spike looked at Angel over her shoulder and raised his eyebrows as if to say how could he deny her? 

" 'Course we can Kitten." 

"Oh good," she turned and the look in her eyes held anything but childish innocence. "Can I have a ciggy?" 

"I didn't know you smoked pet." 

"I don't but Angel will." 

Oh and how he smoked . . .and scalded and peeled and, if she had more time, Christina thought she could make him flake too. Angel's chest and back would be forever marred with her acts of devotion. A delicate spider web of cuts lay white against his flushed back weeping blood. The skin was entirely gone from his left shoulder and there was an angry red acid trail down his stomach. The scent of his blood was thick in the air and she was hungry for revenge. And of course there were all the scars that couldn't be seen. The ones that would take years to catalogue; they would haunt his dreams until he died. 

("Did you know you scream in your sleep sometimes, lover?" she whispers in your ear. Somewhere between pain and misery you understand her. "You did it more when you were a vampire but sometimes you still do. I wonder . . .I wonder if I'll become one of the nightmares that haunts you in the night") 

Spike had merely sat back and watched occasionally giving her advice as her creative mind went to work. And to think, she'd been living with Peaches for the first three months of her unlife. Without wanting to be he was proud. 

"Daddy," she said pulling him out of his reverie, "come look at the pretty pattern I've made." The words were so like Dru but her voice held none of the insanity. It was all sarcasm brutal wit. Spike dropped his cigarette butt and walked around the belabored human. Crouching beside his creation he admired her handiwork. "Do you like it?" she purred. 

"Absolutely Kitten. Absolutely. Does it taste as good as it looks?" She shrugged. "Hold the blighter would you?" Christina grasped Angel's shoulders firmly eliciting a howl of pain while Spike took a long lick of his bleeding back. When he thought he could take no more Christina kneaded the skinless shoulder. Angel's eyes rolled in the back of his head. 

Spike laughed pulling her away. "You my dear were bloody marvelous and I mean that. Very bloody luv, just the way I like it." 

Red hand went around his neck as she murmured into his ear, "Anything for you Sire." 

Spike pulled her flush against his aroused body. "Anything?" he whispered back. She nodded. Viciously he bent her head exposing Christina's neck. They stayed that way for a moment, Spike awaiting her protest Christina awaiting his bite. When she did nothing he released her. "Good you meant it." 

Of course she had. "Can we eat him now Sire?" she asked formally feeling as if she'd passed some kind of test. "I'm so hungry for his blood." 

"Didn't take a nip?" She shook her head. "That's a good girl. Come then, time for your first revenge feed. Always bloody marvelous let me tell you," Spike said leading her by the hand, "especially coupled with a good torture session. 

Christina's free hand idly toyed with her chain. There were two cats on it now sitting tail to tail instead of the cat and cross he'd given her years before, Angel noticed it for the first -- and the last he surmised -- time. It was like those two cats, two rather serpentine cats, that they approached him. For though he was kneeling on the floor arms outstretched chained to the wall they stalked him. They took their time circling him, deciding which place was the best to feed, how to humiliate him to the fullest. Didn't they know there was nothing left to kill? 

The vampire couple knelt on either side of Angel's ravaged form. Christina had trouble keeping her human visage and she kept swaying toward him. Spike watched amused. "It's all right pet, you can feed now." With that she was free. Wrapping an arm about chest and angling her head so that her sire would have no trouble feeding also she plunged into Angel. 

Still bemused the elder vampire looked over the human who had been his sire. "How does it feel mate," he whispered intimately into his ear, "to know everything you've worked so hard for is coming apart at the seams? How does it feel to know that in the end your soul was no use to you, that your no better than some vampire's meal?" caressing various wounds, "How does it feel to be utterly abandoned by everything you've ever loved and made your own? How does it feel to know the woman you love almost as much as life wants someone else more? How does it feel? Can you tell me that? How does it feel to have it all end the way it began?" Angel did not, could not answer but silent tears slipped from his pain clenched eyes. Spike knew it wasn't from either of their "tender" ministrations. It had taken years, decades but he'd won and now all Spike could stomach was a nip at his former sire's neck. 

It was enough. Standing quickly he left Christina to her husband's remaining blood. 

She was so beautiful. Christina stood in awe of the life she'd nurtured within herself for nearly a year, her reason for being a killer. Was it worth it, did she regret it? she asked herself. Yes it was worth it but did she regretted it . . .there were no easy answers to that. 

It had been all she could do not to scoop up the child and hug her close to her chest but that was the blood rush talking. (She could still feel Angel's thoughts and memories tripping through her mind.) Instead she waiting and watched her child sleep. She caressed the little forehead, ran her fingers down the delicate delicate nose and around the bow of her lips. Then she just stared. Stared at this little piece of perfection that had come from her hell bound body, she stared and in the space of a moment lived out the life that would never be. 

_"When the night is come,"_ really she had to leave but how could she go without singing one lullaby to her child? _"And the land is dark and . . . and the moon is the only light we'll see."_ Her voice caught and there was stinging behind her eyes. _"No I won't,"_ it cracked, _"be afraid. No I won't be afraid just as . . .as long as you stand, stand by me."_ And she could not go on. 

Laying the only gift she had -- the charmed lapis lazuli cuff her mother had given her on her sixteenth birthday -- on her daughter's small chest Christina fled into the night lapping at blood tears before they became someone else's ruby pearls. 

"Everyone," Spike called out, "I want you to meet the newest member of our little clan. Gather 'round now. Everyone this is Christina, Christina this is everyone. She is my childe and I expect you to treat her with respect," he warned the minions. 

The nodded grudgingly. 

"Oo," one voice piped up. Spike rolled his eyes. He was sure she'd gone out that night. "Look Spiky, it's like we have a little family," Harmony said making her way through the small gathering. Though they'd moved away, the other vampires didn't go far wanting to see how their, er, "Mistress" would react to the vampiress. "You can call me Mommy," Harm said as if talking to a true child, "and I'll call you things like sweetheart and baby but first we have to do something about your hair. I mean blue so not in. But," she as if she'd make exceptions this one time, "I suppose as a new vampire you don't exactly know how things work. That's okay I can teach --" She made the mistake of reaching for the fledgling's hair. 

Christina pulled the elder vampiress within reach of her fangs but kept her human facade. "I don't know," she whispered just loud enough for Spike to hear, "how you survived the past fifty plus years but if you bother me you won't survive the next five minutes," and pushed Harmony away. 

Instantly Harm's demon came to the fore. "You insolent little . . . How dare you talk to your elder like --" 

Spike knew that to the minions it appeared that Christina had merely pushed the air in front of her somehow propelling Harmony a good twenty feet away but he'd seen her rush the dumb blonde. Oh yes, it had been a good idea turning a Slayer. 

"Don't cross me, Blondie," she growled. Turning to Spike she said, "So I guess this gives you the perfect excuse to stake me. Not that you need a reason," she added with a raised brow. 

"How's that love?" 

"We both know that 'luv' 'Kitten' stuff was for Angel's benefit. Now that he's out of the way I suspect you want nothing to do with me." 

"Speaking of, _Kitten_, what did you do with Angel's body?" 

Shrugging she said, "Let's say I made him someone's birthday and Christmas gift for the rest of their lives and leave it at that." She looked at him with steady brown eyes. The minions still circled sensing the show wasn't quite over. 

"Do you want to be staked?" 

"Not particularly but I figured I might as well bite the wooden bullet." 

"I could make you bloody marvelous. I've seen you work luv and you could be more terrifying than Angelus the Scourge of Effin' Europe." Spike put his hands on her upper arms, "Or I could stake you. Get rid of the last remnant of my bloody sire." 

"You could. It's your choice but I'd think you want to drink him down first," and so saying flicked her hair over her shoulder baring her jugular to him. Instantly Spike was holding her close savoring the taste of his first and only childe and the man that had been both their lovers. He was keeping this one. In a decade or two he could even love her. 

It was waiting for him the second week he woke with the phantom like pains that had no choice but to haunt him. The doctors had been able to remove most of the scars but the new skin on his shoulder was still overly sensitive and he felt every trapped muscle beneath his spider webbed back. Both would leave lasting scars. The new skin on his shoulder would never match the rest and though the wounds inflicted on his back her neat and delicate they were deep. 

For once he hadn't been awakened by the baby. Peeking into her room she lay sound asleep a bit of silver clutched in her fist. It was the same silver he'd found her holding when he woke from his blood-loss induced torpor. He didn't allow himself to think what it meant, that bit of silver and lapis. Just let her hold onto it, hold onto it and let her innocently embrace the things he needed to forget. Somehow he'd managed to go without naming her. She was the baby. She was "She." She was precious and beautiful and good-natured _and looked like her mother_. 

Ghosting through the apartment something felt off. The baby wasn't up but something else was missing. 

The music. It was 6:10 and there was no music coming from the imbedded speakers. He went over to the house computer. Instead of showing him that morning's selections as it always did it flashed a mail sign. Seating himself before the flatscreen he tapped the icon. Instantly it opened revealing a smiling face he knew too well. "Play?" the computer asked. He tapped that icon. 

"Hey Lover, _Imza_," she greeted him, her smile restrained. "If you're getting this then I'm either dead or we're divorced or -- best yet -- I'm old and senile and therefore forgetful. However if the last two don't apply then I should have been dead about three or four weeks now. I'm sorry love, I never meant it to happen this way. I -- darnit! You would come home now wouldn't you . . ." The recording blacked out for a moment before starting again. Once again he was prompted to press Play. 

"Sorry, you came home early and . . .not appropriate talk girlie," she said to herself. "Anywho like I was saying I'm dead. Wow, how weird is it to be saying that? 

"Um, let's see, at the time I'm recording this we've been married a whole three months. That's how I chose the three weeks time limit. Every three weeks I have to put in a password to this file or else it'll send this recording to you. 

"Now it is my utter wish you never see this. Maybe we're both old and gray now and all this tech is obsolete so it dropped this off by mistake. Hey, maybe we have kids," she smiled at the thought, "although I know you don't want any now." Laughing she added, "As if we could. But um, what I really wanted to tell you is to be happy. Yeah, message from the other side and it's be happy. How lame is that?" she asked grinning at him. She was so young then: just turned twenty-one. "But I mean it you big broody lug! I'll admit I want to be the one the who you become human for but I'll take this vampire forever if I have to." 

Her smile dimmed and she looked at, presumably, her hands. "You know," she looked up at him through her lashes from across time, "I never believed you love me, not even now. There were lots of times I was sure you'd realize you could do better and just walk away." 

("You know, I never believed you loved me, really loved me. Oh sometimes I was sure of it. . .") 

"But I want you to know --" 

("but lots of times I was equally if not positive that you'd realize you could do better and walk away. That is until I bit you. Now I know. Too bad you'll never know I guess.") 

"-- that I love you. That I've loved you for a very long time. Do you remember our first kiss. When you said you shouldn't have kissed me it felt like you had thrown a shard of glass at me: invisible but deadly. Then you kept apologizing and it was like you were tossin'em out willy-nilly," he hears her say but it is two voices in his head. Which one is real? 

(She looks down at you full of thinly veiled contempt and utterly complete hatred. "Know this, I saved you for her sake. If I thought Sp-- If I thought he wouldn't hurt her you would be dead right now. The next time we meet _lover_ I hope you've learned how to keep your promises. For your sake hope that when next we meet there's six feet of earth between us.") 

She blushed fiercely, something she rarely did. "I love you. I thought I knew what it was before and maybe when I have my own child I'll learn another dimension to it. All I know right now, though, is I love you and hard as it may be to hear it I'm glad I've died before you. I don't know if I could take never being able to hold you in my arms just one more time. Forever. I know you don't see it that way but that's how I am. I love things fiercely and to be parted from something like -- well whoever was responsible might as well kill me or look into witness protection," she said with a grin. 

She paused for a moment then stared intently at the screen, at him. "No matter what people may tell you, no matter what they may say about what we had who we were and what we've done know that I don't blame you. I don't blame you for bringing me to LA, for teaching me to become a Slayer for being my backup and my shoulder to cry on. They don't know what we've been through. They haven't been covered with demon snot. They don't love you like I do. 

"I love you Angel, Angelus and Liam. I love you all. I love you." She blushed furiously as if embarrassed to say it out loud. 

"Um, anyway, business. You might want to know -- or maybe not -- the password to this whole file is _gra_. Isn't that ironic, the word for 'love' in Gaelic that I could never get my American mouth to like is the one I choose for my password. Anywho, inside the folder you'll find a few, uh, important files. There are some things Wes wanted me to hold onto . . .uh my will. I know, depressing as mudo crudoff. There's also some stuff I want --" 

Grace. He would name their daughter Grace. The woman talking to him so earnestly across time would have liked that.   
[][1]  
  
[][1]  


   [1]: http://www.gurlpages.com/tinpra/main.html



	9. Epilogue

Body _Dedicated to anyone reading!_

§§§ 

Epilogue 

Prologue 

Spike was on a natural high. The flavor of Mardi Gras was in the air even though it was still weeks away. Didn't matter, the streets of New Orleans had a different feeling, a different vibe around this time of year. The humans felt it too. He was a kid in a candy store. McDonald's had come to him, walking the night with unusual fearlessness and in ever larger crowds. Even the whores were more plentiful than usual. 

Him and the pack -- he'd wisely left Harmony to her own devices -- skimmed meals out of the crowd. Walking in a tight, ever shifting group they swarmed around their prey. To the humans there was hardly a change. Every now and then there would be a collective gasp behind them as someone noticed their leftovers, bloodied and covered with bite marks. Police and medical services would be hastily, but belatedly, called. By then they'd already gone through another two victims. 

It amazed him their supreme carelessness. Why not a minute ago they'd swarmed around a little family with a toddler and a baby in a carriage. The All Knowing, All Responsible parents just let the whelp wonder around while they played tourists. So they'd picked it up. It'd make a fun little toy for a while. Spike wondered how long before either noticed little Johnny was -- "My baby! My baby, someone stole my baby!" 

Hmm, better than he thought. The leather clad pack congratulated themselves, no one had noticed the deed and no one even thought to pin it on them. Spike turned to his childe, a lazy prideful grin on his face. She was gone. "Chris?!" Turning quickly he scanned the minions and the crowd of humans around him. There. There she was with -- No! 

The hysterical woman didn't notice the short woman in the long leather coat. "Ma'am. Ma'am. Is this you're son?" She looked down at her, not seeing the white blonde hair shot through with blue and purple and green. She didn't see various piercings. She only saw the dark blond hair that would soon turn brown and black eyes that belonged to his father. 

"Zachary!" She swept the boy from the girls arms. For the first time he cried as if released from some enchantment. "How can I thank you?" 

"Watch him more carefully." She turned and rejoined the minions. 

Spike pulled her up roughly by her collar. "What the hell is wrong with you?!" When she didn't answer he slapped her. It was hard enough to snap a humans neck and crack the bones in a vampire. Her head merely whipped about. When she looked back an iron curtain had fallen over her eyes. She was ready for whatever punishment he decided to mete out. Angrily he threw her away. "Damn you, now I know why the bleeding minions call you Gemini." 

§§§ 

"What's the matter Kitten," Spike said stepping over a minion with his throat torn out, "feeling out of sorts?" 

"He disturbed my peace." 

She sat on his -- sometimes their -- bed staring out into the night. Well, that would explain why most of the minions were giving his door a wider berth than usual. "You can't go tearing out the throats of every minion we have, luv, just because they decide to strike up a conversation," he told her practically. 

She contradicted, "He knew better. They all know better than to disturb my peace." 

"Even Harm?" 

He couldn't see it all but her grin was evil indeed. "Especially Harmony." 

Spike kneeled on the bed, approaching her cautiously from behind for though he might have been the only vampire safe from her wrath a little pain didn't deter her from incurring his -- just because she could. "So tell me, Kitten-- Oh, you," he turned to the still minion, "you can go now." Carefully holding his missing throat he scrambled for safety now that his unlife was no longer in danger. "Like I was saying, what's the matter then?" 

Stonily she sat ignoring him . . .the one person she had no such freedoms with. And yet Spike didn't press the obedience he should receive as her maker only crossed the bed with unnatural stealth till he could lay his pale hands on her bare shoulders. This was a place they'd been to before in the four years of her existence, shutting everyone and everything out. Her peace, not to be disturbed by anyone not even himself else she would wreak her vengeance on the offender. At first, when the offender was Spike he wreaked right back until it became apparent to anyone with eyes that at those times it was not Spike who received her ire full measure but herself. Self imposed isolation turned mutilation. 

"It's her birthday, I know." 

Inside their -- usually his -- room it was another world, one of velvet and silk and darkness and quiet. Dawn approached the overcast sky making everything gray and the room a peculiar shade of blue. There was no house beyond those walls, no world except that which could be seen outside the windows. 

She gasped. "How did you--" 

"Known all the time, luv," Spike said drawing her back into his embrace. "Knew it when I drank from you that night. You couldn't kill the whelp, didn't expect you to. Couldn't kill the Poof either -" 

"I needed someone to watch out for her." 

"Right you are pet," he said in a soothing manner. He knew his childe better than she knew herself and anticipated her next action. He was ready for the sudden onslaught of tears; the sobs that require the heavy sucking of air into dead lungs just to release the tight knot of pain from her body; the sudden limpness of her supernaturally preternaturally strong body. It was four years of bottled pain, four years of willingly accepting every beating he -- no three years because after a while anyone with eyes could see they were utterly pointless -- gave, four years of her "peace" and Mother's Day massacres. (Although he liked to trail her on her solitary yearly killing sprees. She was a wonder to watch.) And much as he wouldn't admit it later, the sobs were painful to watch. If she were a human he would have been afraid they were causing some internal damage. Since she was a vampire he had to be content that it'd all heal after a few mobile Happy Meals. 

"There there now Kitten. It's all right," Spike murmured because for all its ferocity pain like hers could not be kept at for long. It required too much energy and he knew she hadn't fed that night so, although it may have seemed like forever, the tears quickly subsided. "Did your little mole bring back bad news?" 

She was too worn out to be surprised at the extent of her sire's knowledge. "No." 

"What then?" Slowly extricating herself from his arms, she retrieved a package sitting on the windowsill and gave it to him. 2D pictures, a box full of them, of a little girl with curly frizzy hair, in bright jumpers, with chocolate ice cream smeared on her face, playing with other children and there, on top, at a carnival sitting atop the shoulders of her father. 

Turning her face into his shoulder she said quietly, "I don't even know her name." 

So Spike was surprised when as the first rays of dawn streamed through the open window she suddenly sprang from his arms into the murderous light. It was only his superior reflexes as her maker that saved her. "What the bloody . . . What do you think you were doing?" Holding her chin between his fingers in a punishing grip he ground out, "Did someone forget who the sire and who the childe was in this effin' relationship? Like any good mum I brought you into this underworld and I -- and only I! -- can take you out of it. Do you understand?" She refused to respond. Angry at her disregard for the gift that was unlife he savagely bared her neck. It was the only discipline she understood. 

Usually he treasured drinking from her, she offered her blood more freely than most and only to him. Yet it was with ferocity that he bit her, reclaimed her as His childe, His thing, His to control and dominate and give or take as He chose. And always as he drank from her there was the mired sexuality -- the teasing with which she lured victims and minions both -- the struggling duality between demon and Slayer and the gaping empty ragged hole he and his Sire had created in her. The hole Spike'd only been partially successfully turned into raging hunger and anger for all humanity because the part that wasn't keeping the demon fed the Slayer's self loathing. 

She was limp when he released her. Resolutely he crossed the bed and closed the heavy curtains over the window. "You stay in here tonight," he ordered knowing she liked to go on a rampage after an extended "peace." "Someone will bring you a body or two. Pack while you're at it," having decided while drinking, "we're going to LA" 

§§§ 

_Taptaptap Taptaptap Taptaptap_

The little girl stumbled out of bed nearly tripping over her long nightgown. She was too sleepy to care that her hair was in disarray, too young to worry who might be tapping on her window so late at night. She was young enough to stare out the window in wonder however at the white haired being. 

"Hey little girl. Let me in?" 

She pushed it the pane up from the sash. A breath of cool air momentarily plastered the gown to her thin body and blew her curly hair from her cherubic face. "My Daddy said never to let strangers in the house. Especially not vampires. A vampire killed my mommy. Guess what?" What? "When I'm old enough I'm gonna find him and I'm gonna kill him." 

The woman smiled toothily. "You have a smart father and he has a smart daughter. You think I'm a vampire?" 

She nodded emphatically. "I know you are." 

"Well guess what?" What? "When you're old enough I'll help you." 

The girl's eyes widened and she leaned dangerously close to the invisible barrier that protected her. "Really? Why?" 

"Because the same people that killed your mother killed me too." 

§§§ 

"Poor thing," she laughed extending her hand toward the invisible barrier between them as if she could strong the child's head, "who did your hair?" 

Face turning into a puckering frown she gingerly touched the object of humor. "Daddy." 

The vampiress laughed again. "Oh sweetie you have to let someone else do your hair for you. I'd do it if you like." 

The girl stepped back. "No." 

"Okay, you won't let me make you pretty." The woman sat back on her haunches contemplating the progress she'd made with the child over the past three nights. Tonight was the fourth after taking last night off (Spike blood flesh Spike skin sweat fingers Spike lips Spike) to make up for neglected time. 

"You know what," she proceeded as if the thought hadn't been plaguing her for four years instead of five minutes, "I don't even know your name. I can't just keep calling you 'sweetie' and 'sugar' all the time." 

The girl's mind was obviously torn. There was something about the vampiress that was . . .enticing, intriguing, enthralling. If only she wasn't an evil vampire! 

"Um, I don't think I should. What's _your_ name?" she asked in a moment of four year old genius. 

"Well," the vampiress said playfully drawing the word out and up and down scale, "if you won't tell me yours why should I tell you mine?" 

"But maybe if I tell you mine . . . I mean maybe if you tell me yours I'll tell you mine." 

"Hmm, I don't know. You seem to be getting the better deal here." The girl's face said she wasn't going to give unless she really pushed. "How about we compromise: I'll go first. They call me Gemini." 

"Why do They call you 'Gemini' and who are They?" 

She smiled. "They are the minions back at the lair. Gemini is the name of a group of stars. They're called the twins because, I guess, people thought those stars looked like twins." 

"So you have a twin?" 

She laughed. "No. No. Gemini is also a sign, an astrological sign. People who are born when those stars are in the sky are supposed to have two personalities, two very different personalities." 

"So you have two different personalities," she decided. "Yes," Gemini answered. "At least for a vampire I do. 

"Your turn, what am I going to call you?" 

"I don't know. Come up with something," she said with a smile. 

It only took four days to get a smile. 

§§§ 

"Will you do my hair Gem?" 

"Can't do it tonight Honey Baby. If I did your father," she couldn't help but sneer, "will realize your imaginary friend Gem isn't imaginary. You don't want me to go forever do you?" The little girl called Honey during the midnight hours shook her fuzzy head fervently. "I'll tell you what though?" 

"What?" 

"If you let me wear that silver cuff with the lapis on your night stand I can come to your school and do your hair during recess. I'll do your hair and give you back the cuff and then we'll go back to our midnight meetings." 

"How?" 

"That cuff is special. It'll protect me from the sun though," she shrugged, "I won't be anywhere near as powerful." 

"No. That's my Mommy's cuff." Eyes downcast and sad she added, "It's the only thing I have of hers." 

"It's okay my Honey Baby, someday you'll trust me. Someday." 

§§§ 

Harmony's brown eyes flashed gold, angry at the minions around her. Christina stood on her left facing her, arms crossed. Before them stood a bevy of minions of different backgrounds and looks and ability. 

"Who's the Mistress here," she asked with the anger of a petulant child, stomping her foot, "me or her?!" 

Immediately six or seven vampires, male all, jumped to her side ready to grovel at her feet. The other thirty or so threw cautious questioning glances at the brown skinned vampiress. "Well?!" 

"Of course you are our mistress," a smooth skinned brown woman said dropping to her knees before Harmony. 

Another vampire, tale athletic and male, exchanged quick looks with his fellows and did likewise. "Yes Mistress Harmony. You know we answer only to you." 

Spike watched from the wings as Harmony bounced on the balls of her feet ready to gloat with the Slayer. Didn't the bint know Katie and Derek were Christina's personal favorites? They'd picked the girl up in Brazil. Her family were Indian immigrants with exotic dark brown skin, long silky hair and liquid brown eyes. She'd been ready made when they found her or had she found them? 

She'd been a moody little chit and only Gem could stand her. 

Derek was another Brazilian, of the paler variety. He could pass for a Latino or Caucasian in the States, his family having emigrated from Brazil. It didn't matter to Christina who couldn't resist him. She couldn't resist wanting him. She couldn't resist stalking him. (that had been fun) She couldn't resist turning him. (Spike'd thought she'd finally gotten over the whelp) She'd only made him into a minion. 

Christina'd turned him and abandoned him only so he would be picked up by Katie. Spike had to admit the chit was calmer then. Together they loved Christina, made her their goddess. She was their Mistress and they were her most trusted servants. 

It was obvious to anyone who walked into the "family" house who ran things. Certainly not Harm, Spike thought with a snigger pulling on his fag. Christina'd made that perfectly clear that first night when she'd pushed the dumb blonde into the far wall. Neither Derek nor Katie had been with them then but all the minions who liked their fangs where they were pledged their undying allegiance to her on the spot. 

"See Gemini, didn't I tell you they're only loyal to _me_?" 

"Indeed," she said in a smoke and whiskey voice laced with sarcasm, "I must concede subservience." 

"Right, so long as you know I'm better than you are." 

Dear God Harm, Spike thought, why didn't someone put them all out of their misery and stake her? 

§§§ 

"Gem!" The girl wailed as soon as the vampiress leaped onto the fire escape. 

"What?" The vampiress was immediately on guard, "What's wrong? Honey what's wrong?" 

She was surprised when the little girl flung herself out the open window into Gemini's arms. She felt instead of heard the girl mumble something into her velvet covered skin. "Mr. Skreevle did? Mr. Skreevle did what? Is that a teacher at your school? Have you told your father? Did your father pull a frelling mudo crudoff? Don't worry, I'll take care of Mr. Skreevle just tell me what he did," she vowed feeling her mask of humanity slipping off. 

"No," the girl said raising her head. "Mr. _Scribble_, my hamster. He . . .he died." 

"Oh. Oooh, okay." Now how to handle this? Slowly, soothingly she smoothed the girl's fine eyebrows. "Do you, um . . . What do you want to do Honey?" 

Sniffing she looked up and said, "I thought maybe you could bury it since your dead and all." 

"Undead and okay." 

"Daddy, Daddy?" 

"Yes, who, no I don't know where Teddy is." 

"It's not about Teddy. Gemini's watching Teddy." 

Gemini was watching Teddy. His daughter's imaginary friend watching her stuffed animal. He supposed it made sense. "What time is it Sweetness?" 

"The LCD says 6:10." 

"Okay, why'd we wake Daddy up at 6:10 on a Saturday?" he asked sitting up and pulling his daughter onto the bed with him. 

Instantly her face fell. "Mr. Scribble died."  
Hadn't he just replaced Mr. Scribble last year? There had to be something in the air that shortened the LA hamster's life expectancy: that or a pet store conspiracy. "Are you all right _grá._" She nodded but he could see the pooling of her eyes. Knowing his daughter better than she did herself at six he pulled her into his warm embrace where she felt the freedom to cry for the second time that day. 

§§§ 

"Are you sure you're not going to go poof?" 

Gemini laughed weakly. "I told you, the cuff will protect me." 

"But you look so . . .blah." 

"It protects me enough not to go 'poof' but I'm nearly as weak as you are now." 

"Really?" 

"Yes really. Now stop moving around or your hair will never come out right." 

§§§ 

Spike watched them flushed and bloated from the night's hunt. They'd gone all out inviting most of the house with them, the master vampire included. Three peas in a bloody pod they were, he thought. He wondered why he let her live -- Christina -- after her flagrant disobedience starting with letting his ponce of a sire live. Watching her there with her two favorites he wondered how she managed to live before. 

§§§ 

Some nights, some nights she didn't bother to wake the child. It was enough to watch her sleep. 

§§§ 

"Guess what Daddy." 

"What pumpkin?" 

"_Daddy!_ You have to guess!" 

"Not while Daddy's cooking dinner, hon, unless you want burned rice again." 

"Blech! Okay so we'll say you gave up. Anyway, guess what Gemini said?" 

"What?" 

"She said one day she'd help me find and kill the vampire that killed Mommy." 

Angel turned. "When did she say this?" 

She shrugged. "The first time was a while ago but she said it again yesterday. Aren't you happy?" 

Angel turned back to dinner. 

§§§ 

"Daddy, tell me about my mother." 

Angel took a deep steadying breath. She didn't ask often but when she did . . .it was if Bishop were on the viz again telling him his wife was dead. 

"Happy Birthday Honey. You're mother would be so proud of you. Look at you, the big One Oh." 

The preteen smiled, embarrassed by her favorite friend's compliment. "I didn't think you'd be back in time for my birthday." 

"Hey, not even the Czech Republic could keep me from this birthday." 

"Is that why you're hair's black again, because you were in the Czech Republic?" 

Gemini shrugged. "Got bored with purple. You know your mother had purple hair a time or two." 

"Tell me about my mother Gem." 

"Blow out your candle -- away from me this time I know you were only six but I don't fancy catching fire this year -- and I'll tell you something about your mother. 

"You, I am happy to say, will be far prettier than she. No, no, I'm not being mean. Your mother was very honest with herself, she knew she was only modestly pretty. She'd be proud to see you know that you know. She'd also be happy to know that you avoided your father's overhanging brow. Now don't '_Gem!_' me, it's true, she made fun of him all the time. 

"But she loved him," Gemini's voice laced with disgust. 

The girl turned in the vampire's arms and asked, "Why don't you like Daddy, Gem? I don't think I ever really got it." 

She was silent for a moment trying to put into words her hate and pain without clouding the child's judgment. "He . . .he hurt me in a way that cannot be repaired." 

"And," she prompted. 

"And the rest I'll tell you when you get older." 

"It's always when I get older!" the girl whined. "Even Daddy says that." 

Gemini laughed. "Don't think saying your father and I agree on something will change my mind. He's still your father and in the end you're a little girl, not a little vampiress." 

"What if I want to be a vampiress?" 

"You don't know what you're saying." 

"So what. Maybe I don't but what if?" 

"Then you know where I am." 

§§§ 

"What were you thinking?! Did you think I wouldn't find out?!" 

"What are you talking about Gem?" 

The vampiress threw the teen back into her bedroom through the open window. Demon at the fore she didn't care if the girl cringed. "Have you forgotten who and what I am? Have you forgotten that I _choose_ to come here? I Don't Have To. What do you think your father will do if he finds out you've been letting a _vampire_ visit you every night she's in LA since you were four? What do you think will happen --" 

"I don't know why you're so upset. It's not like it's a big deal. I mean, mudo crudoff, you _kill_ people every night." 

"Yeah and I'm a vampire. I also listen to my sire. If I find out you've done something so asinine as break curfew to go out to a club to see some boy and then, and then!, came home and mouthed off to your father I will never -- and I mean never -- step foot near this slab of earth ever again. You will never know your mother's secrets, you will never know your father's secrets and you'll never know mine. Is that what you want little girl? I mean, you think you're so grown now." 

"No, Gemini, please. I thought, I thought I was being like you." 

"When did I ever tell you to be so flagrantly disrespectful to your father? I've done everything but. Don't give me your crap. I know what's been going on. I know this little, little bender is minor compared to some of the other things you've been doing while I was gone. Your father has been far too kind. 

"You want to be like me? You want to be my kind? If my sire caught wind of _half_ of what you've done I wouldn't be able to walk for weeks. I hope you've gotten some sense in that thick curly head of yours by the time I come back. If I come back." Gemini leapt onto the fire escape railing down onto the street into the night. 

The teen ran after her. "Gem, no! I'm sorry! I'll apologize! I swear I won't do it again, any of it! Please, come back!" she screamed into the silent unforgiving night. "Please." 

"Let's go to Paris." 

"What's this about then, Kitten, Paris?" 

"When was the last time you've been." 

"Coupl'a decades." 

"Then we should go," she purred to her Sire. "I can brush up on my high school French." 

Looking at her on his shoulder he asked, "What about the chit?" 

"Who?" 

§§§ 

The two sat around the kitchen table eating. 

"Are you really sure you'll be all right spending the summer at your grandmother's?" 

She smiled. "Yes Daddy, I'll be fine. Good grief, worry much?" 

"I used to be well known for it. Yes really. Besides, I'm sure you'll have fun in New York. Your mother loved it you know. It was her hometown." Gemini said New York was her favorite city too. "You certainly have her shopping gene." 

"I'm not going to max out my credit." 

"I know you won't. I've already set a limit on the balance." 

"_Daddy!_" 

He laughed. Inwardly Angel marveled at his daughter. Only a few years before he'd discovered she'd inherited her mother's lying skills and, especially being _his_ child, he was sure that wasn't all of it. Suddenly, however, it was over. The day after his angry tirade she'd been very quiet and withdrawn and none of his prodding could gain an answer. It had to be more than his anger because she remained so for weeks afterward. If her sleep patterns hadn't improved he would have sent her to an Rx. She'd gone back to being the sweet loving child he always prayed she would stay -- and knew she wouldn't. In fact their relationship had never been better. So it was with only minor worry that he sent his only child into the wilds of New York City by herself. 

_Not by herself_, Angel reminded himself, _but to her grandmother._ Kim had been more than willing to keep her teen aged granddaughter for the two month stint. It was strange, however, he almost wished Gemini, his daughter's childhood imaginary friend, were going with her. 

Speaking of Gemini, a vampire of the same name had come to his attention through his contacts with the Watchers. It seemed he or she, they didn't know which, was looking to claim his old title as Scourge and bury it with one of his/her own. The vampire had only been on the radar for a few years now but his was tuned on another -- another who refused to show herself. 

§§§ 

"Gemini, why are you wearing a choker?" 

The vampiress touched the thick silver links with their amber stations. "My sire feels I've been getting a little big for my undead britches," she said with an air of amusement. "I suppose I have changed over the years." 

"How?" 

She looked at the girl. A teenager now, almost a woman. "Well, before I met you I was withdrawn I was quixotic and I deserved the nickname Gemini. Now, now I'm different. I'm not his exclusively anymore. I only used to share myself and my kills with him, not anymore." 

"Now you share yourself with me." 

"And my minions." 

The girl looked at her wide eyed. "I didn't realize you had children." 

"Only one, a botched one at that. Technically he's a minion but he's as devoted as any childe I could have made. It's him and another who adopted me as her mistress. It was a strange relationship we had, them worshipping me though I gave them nothing and me relying on them though there was no promise they would stay with me. It's all changed now. We're quite a trio. I think my sire is jealous," Gemini grinned. "The choker's his way of reminding me who's sire and who is childe." 

"Are you popular?" 

The vampire put down her cup of hot coffee. They sat across from each other in a street cafe in the Village, one of the places Gem knew was particularly vamp friendly. "Why all the questions Honey?" 

She shrugged. "I dunno. I just realized you've been telling me all this stuff about my parents over the years but nothing about you. I mean why do you always come to visit me, ever since I was a little girl? I know how much you hate Daddy, it doesn't make any sense." 

"I've told you, Honey, I loved your mother. Everyone did. I had to see her daughter. It was killing me not to. I was falling deeper and deeper into depression and no one, not my two favorites, not my sire, not massacres or blood baths could pull me out of it. You did. 

"I have to go. If you want we'll finish this tomorrow night, okay? I'd say tell your grandmother hello for me but she might faint away," she said laughter in her voice. 

Standing to leave she heard, "Wait, Christina, Mom, don't leave." Slowly turning back around she sat heavily in the wrought iron chair. "What did you call me?" 

"I'm right aren't I? You are my mother." 

Gemini, Christina, felt as if she were under a wet quilt. "Yes," she answered slowly, "how did you find out? Who told you?" 

The shook her head. "I've been putting the pieces together for years. You knew too much, you had all the same mannerisms Dad always said Mom had and ever since you showed up outside my window in LA I've never felt motherless. You've always been there. But I didn't always know. When I sixteen and you left me because I was being stupid I started wondering then I actively tried putting things together, you know, asking questions and stuff from you and Dad. Why didn't you tell me?" 

Christina laughed. "What was I going to do, tell my five year old daughter that Mommy really isn't dead she's _undead_ especially after she gave me her grand plans for destroying all vampire-kind for what happened to me. Which I thought was very sweet by the way," she added. 

"Did you mean--" 

"What's your name? You know mine and I never could find out yours. I'm pretty positive Angel didn't name you Honey and I've waited years and years and years for you to trust me enough to tell me." 

"Grace." 

"Grace," she rolled the name around in her mouth. "He finally did something right. Grace. I like it." 

"I'm glad," her daughter replied wryly, "because I've kinda gotten used to it. But did you mean what you said all those years about helping me kill the person who killed you? Would you really kill your sire? Was it really Spike? And how did he do it?" 

Christina smiled, "Slow down and yes I did mean it but Spike didn't kill me. He turned me but he didn't kill me. And as for how it happened," she hesitated, "I asked him to turn me. We were fighting and I was seven months pregnant with you but I wasn't showing else he would have killed me outright I'm sure. He . . ." this was harder than she thought it would be, "surprised me and . . .and stabbed me. It was a fatal wound. Then he drained me. I would have died, you would have died," she would not cry, "your father would have been devastated. I couldn't let it happen. I -- I begged him to change me. My only hope was that you'd survive the process long enough to be born and then . . .and then," she _would not_ cry, "Angel could stake me and that would be enough. 

"But your father doesn't know how to keep his word," she finished bitterly. 

"What do you mean," Grace's tone was grave. She didn't know how to handle the news that not only was her best friend vampire her mother but she had _asked_ to become a vampire for her husband and daughter's sakes -- for her sake. 

"He promised to stake me if you were born human. It's never happened before you know, a baby born to a vampiress. We can't after we're turned and pregnant women are delicacies not high on the 'Likely to be Made Into a Vampire' list. Instead your father, Angel," saying his name was like swallowing bile, "let me hold you. He let me hold you in my arms for one instant then took you away forever. He didn't stake me, he didn't force me into the sun, he didn't cut off my head or start a fire at my feet. He took you away and he sent me into the world broken." She absently wiped her eyes. "I could hear your heartbeat in my bones. It was my heartbeat and then it was gone ripped away by the man who said he loved me, by the man I was willing to die for. I had died for him. Spike wanted to kill me and you that night but he only killed me and you I wouldn't let him have. 

"No Spike didn't kill me, your father did," she said her voice full of venom. "So if you're ever ready to go kill him you know how to find me otherwise I think . . .I think this is the last time we'll be seeing each other." Once again she stood to leave. 

She was halfway to the transport when she heard, "Mom, stop," that time. She was weeping openly by then. 

§§§ 

"Derek, get everyone together. Including the louses running prey in the basement." 

"Yes, Lady." 

"Katie --" 

"Yes Lady?" 

"Is Spike here?" 

"Yes Lady but sleeping." 

"He won't be for long. Is everything ready? Are you ready? Are you all right with this?" 

"Yes, Lady, everything is ready as for myself and Derek, your will is ours." 

"Ha, I've said _those_ famous last words before." 

"Will this be hard?" 

"No, no cherie. This will not be hard at all. You get to stand at my side. Derek and Katie will be right behind you, isn't that right Katie?" 

"Of course, Lady. We would never abandon you." 

"You know, when the two of you say that I can believe you mean it. They're ready Derek?" 

"Yes, Lady." 

"Good, let's go." 

"But if we go that way we have to pass by Spike's room." 

"I know. 

"Vampires, minions and fledglings alike, hear me. You know and I know we don't stand on ritual here so long as you know who is Master here and who is not. You will stand for ritual and tradition now. I present to you my daughter, my childe, a childe of the House of Aurelius, a childe of the line of the Master, a vampire so old he has been known by no other name since written history. You will respect her. You will honor her or you will contend with me and mine. You will contend with Spike." 

The master vampire leaned against the door frame of the main room, the picture of ease. Imperceptibly he gave his childe -- children now -- his approval of her secret and unsanctioned action, a nod. 

§§§ 

"Hi Daddy!" 

Grace dropped her bags as her father stepped into the hall to hug his daughter. "Mmmm, and I thought I missed you when you spent that summer with your Grandmother in New York. How was hiking the Rockies with your friends? How are Etienne, Joseph and Carmelo?" 

"How 'bout I tell you as soon as I can get a nice hot cup of coffee in my hands." 

"My Grace wants coffee? I'll have to tell Bishop to expect an Apocalypse." Grace laughed. "Come on, let's go inside. Here, let me take that for you." Together they struggled to bring the bags inside. 

Angel took silent inventory of his daughter over the rim of his coffee cup. She was sprawled boneless on the couch separated by an old scarred coffee table. The mountain air had doe wonders for her. Her curly hair seemed fuller, if that were possible, and her eyes brighter. She practically glowed with a vitality that seemed otherworldly and she had a ready toothy smile. "So how are the other three parts of the Frightening Four?" 

"Oh, they're dead," she said with a said gaily. 

Angel sputtered in his coffee. "They're what?" he murmured. 

"Dead. It's their own fault. Such bad timing." Angel felt the blood draining from his face as his daughter continued on as if the three had merely fallen into a stream fully clothed. "Mom, Mommy, did I kill Etienne or did you?" 

"You," Angel turned quickly at the voice behind his shoulder, "did dearest. Have you missed me, _imzadi_?" 

When, later the next night, he noticed his favorite mug shattered on the floor he would be furious. It shattered as he scrambled from his seat (_"Hope that when next we meet there's six feet of earth between us."_) her parting words echoing through his mind. Angel knew she was a vampire but some part of his mind still conceived of her as either older or younger than she had been. She was exactly as she had been the day she left him nearly dead in his own bed. Younger. She looked precisely the way she had the first day they met, her hair short, black-brown and curled up; the cut of her clothes better fit her slayer-vampire lithe form but they were the same jeans and tee-shirt that had been her trademark. 

Strong, fierce hands clasped his neck and arm. Slowly Christina stalked him on high heeled feet. "Step into my parlor said the spider to the fly. Or should it be the other way around?" 

"Hey Daddy," Grace whispered in Angel's ear, "you remember Mommy don't you? She remembers you. And guess what, she promised me years ago that when I got old enough she would help me find and kill her murderer. Didn't you?" 

The vampiress nodded. 

(_Guess what Gemini said Daddy? She said she'd help me kill the vampire who killed Mommy._) 

"Gemini," he said in a tight whisper. 

Christina's curtsey was mocking, "At your service. Or disservice." Grace giggled. "Taking joy in your erstwhile Sire's expense?" The girl nodded. "That's my baby." 

Angel felt the tremors of her laughter through his back stop. "Wait, rewind. What did you say Mum?" 

"Joy at your erstwhile Sire's expense." 

"What do you mean Sire? Like father?" 

Christina reveled in the white knuckle terror in her nemesis' life. "Didn't he tell you? Of course not, why would Angel tell you that he is the infamous Angelus of the House Aurelius when he didn't even --" 

"What?!" With the force only a vampire could muster Grace released her father nearly pushing him into her mother. "You're Angelus?" she asked incredulously. "YOU'RE ANGELUS?!" She flew at her father in a rage. 

"Grace stop now!" All eyes flew to the open doorway. Cigarette dangling from his lips, Spike stood in the doorway unable to enter. "He won't be nearly as pretty later if you tear him to bits now will he?" 

Silently she shook her head face red with anger. Christina picked up the still cringing Angel by the scruff of his neck and dragged him to her sire. "Invite him in." 

"No." 

Shaking him she bit out with a deathly calm, "Invite him in." 

"No." 

Spike blew a plume of smoke in Angel's face. "Take a good look at him Grace, without him you wouldn't exist. None of us would. 

"Don't worry 'bout an invitation, Kitten. Soon as he's dead the bloody barricade will be gone and we can finish what we've started. What's that line, Grace?" 

" 'And the first shall be last.'" 

"That's the one Pet or should we call you Honey now? Maybe Angelus will have an opinion. Lift his head higher Chris. That's good then. He's older than I remember. I'm going to miss this look of utter terror on your face Angel. Wait, no I'm not. 

"Go." 

If it had seemed like the two women had been leashed the moment Spike arrived then at his word they were set free. Their true faces pushed forward, humanity melting into the background. Christina descended quickly into his shoulder. "Don't worry Daddy," Grace licked her father's jugular, "it won't take long but it will hurt," and joined her mother and sire in feeding from him. 

"Oh yes Angel, it won't take long but it will hurt," was the last thing he heard as a mortal man. 

Epilogue 

"'Therefore our sometimes sister, now our queen, th' imperial jointress of this warlike state --'" 

"Your sometimes queen and now your sister." 

"I don't think that's what The Bard intended." 

"Who cares what he intended. Where's your Hamlet?" 

"There's always Grace. We could do the Olivier version, all that delicious incest." 

"Grace is more involved with that cat." 

"Rumor? Still trying to convince Spike to change it?" 

"Of course. And why can't you be Gertrude. I've seen the way you look at her. Make her your Hamlet, Lover." 

"Mmm, I will. I will. But you must be there." 

"Would I be anywhere else?" 

End   
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   [1]: http://www.gurlpages.com/tinpra/main.html



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